The Carrick
by HasFar2Go
Summary: The team starts to delve back into the world of dreams to 'surface' coma patients, but going under means facing secrets they have all been keeping. Ariadne/Cobb, Arthur/Eames.
1. Prologue

_**Carrick**_

_**I own nothing but a handful of **_**Inception**_** ticket stubs and dog-eared poetry books. I wouldn't want to own Margaret Atwood or any of her ideas even **_**if **_**I was given the chance – she's too far beyond me and I adore her for that. **_

_**'Carrick' refers to two types of related knots. The Carrick mat is a decorative, intricate knot, and can be used to secure a woggle, which in turn is used to secure a scarf. **_

**

* * *

Prologue**

_I'm telling the wrong lies,_

_they are not even useful._

_The right lies would at least be keys, they would open the door._

_The door is closed; the chairs,_

_the tables, the steel bowl, myself_

_shaping bread in the kitchen, wait_

_outside it._

_-i, _Hesitations outside the door, Margaret Atwood

When she comes to, she's being dragged down a hallway, barely able to keep her footing under her as two men in black jumpsuits pull her along. Her mind frantically races through events that she can remember, panics when she can't and her arm is sore, as if she's been given a shot. It's like her mind is having spasms. Time didn't seem to be paced right – it's too fast at times – but it could be because of whatever they had given her. Her worst fears are confirmed when, with all the strength she can muster, she jerks a captured wrist a little closer to her own unfocused gaze and there are the bracelets peaking out under the cuff of her ragged shirt.

It was reality.

Ariadne tried to fight against the guards viciously, but they were too much taller than her and their strength is too much to overpower. Panic made her lungs hurt.

The room they dragged her to was cement, and cold. They easily tied her down to it, hands slipping over the decorated wrist, uncaring of what was there. Her mouth felt dry and there's the slightest taste of blood.

So they had drugged her and tortured her. She becomes compliant when she realizes that the cuts and bruises on her body only hurt in a vague manner. It's a dream, then. A horrific one, but a dream.

Dom is dragged in, the scraping of his feet echoing off of the cement walls. When he sees her tied to the chair, he struggles.

"Ariadne," he says in a tone that trembles and breaks her heart a little more. His wild blue eyes are anguished. Despite his best attempts to leave all of this, he keeps finding himself back here.

"Dom, it's fine," she whispers, because her voice is cracking. Her throat is throbbing, and she realizes that in reality, someone is forcing something down it. It's the feel of the oropharyngeal airway being inserted. Not good if she's not breathing up there. "This is a dream, okay? We just have to bide our time until the compound wears out."

"We know you're Cobol," says a calm voice from the doorway. There's a man in an immaculate blue suit in the doorway to the room. His sandy-blonde hair is slicked back, so smooth it could be the tip of a bullet. His face is clean shaven, and at the most he could be in his mid-twenties. There's a coldness to his blue eyes that makes her stomach spasm. "We know you have training," the second Cobb continues.

Dom stares, first at his younger doppelganger and then his features contract into a pained one. "Stop," he says in a tone that is a breath away from defeat. He knows this is his subconscious, and how strong it is.

"Mr. Charles," Ariadne says in an even voice, acknowledging the younger man. "I've already gone over this with Dominic and he's aware of my background. Anything he is curious to find out, he understands I will explain for him."

Mr. Charles walks smoothly over to her, stopping in front of a metal grate on the floor that had not been there a second before. It's his way of explaining that he doesn't care if this get's messy. Cement is easy to clean up with a little water and Coca Cola. He leans down and cups her face in a move that parodies intimacy.

"He might accept that, but we don't," he whispers into her ear. Behind him, Dom yells. "You haven't told us everything, and we know it."

Ariadne pulls her head back as far as she can. Her stony brown eyes meet his cobalt ones. "You know that torture isn't going to work on me. And you won't torture yourself. You _cannot_ get the information you want out of me."

The smile she receives is shark-like. "I beg to differ." When he stands back up and takes a step to the side, there's a new doorway behind him. It's a rich, mahogany wood, with intricate stained glass. There are two hundred and seventy five pieces of glass in that door. She knows because it's the door to her house.

She cannot stop herself. As Mr. Charles strides over to the doorway, she screams, and screams, and _screams_.

* * *

**A/N 2: **

**The tense shifts in this story are intentional. Dreams will be in present tense, while reality is in past tense (it's not supposed to have any deeper meaning, it just was an easy fix to the problem of making the setting obvious). Events from the past will be in italics. **

**This whole thing is canon compliant; just give it some time to be explained. **

**Updates won't be on any definite time schedule – my other fic is already two weeks behind in updating and I feel _horrible_ about that. **

**Yes, Virginia, this is a Ariadne/Cobb story, but it will take it's time getting there. **

**Weird to ask, but what are people's thoughts on a music listing per chapter?**


	2. Chapter 1

Status update: Still don't own Inception and still don't own Margaret Atwood.

* * *

_**Months Earlier:**_

**E**ames whistled as he looked over the edge of his sunglasses at the house. It was massive, some amalgamation of woodsy cabin and clean glass, as if Apple employees on retreat would feel very comfortable in it.

"Well I suppose I know whose guest bedroom I'm crashing in, should the occasion warrant it," he declared. Over the top of the car, he eyed the driver. "You never told me Cobb lived in a palace."

Arthur ignored him, instead moving to the backseat to pull out a white gift bag. He looked up when the burgundy Jeep Cherokee behind him rolled to a stop. Ariadne climbed out, followed by Yusef from the passenger seat. Her eyes studied the building with an expert's gaze, a smile slowly spreading on her face as she took in the details. "Very Cobb."

Yusef yawned and stretched. "That drive took forever," he complained. "And we should have all driven together. Carpooling is much better for the environment."

Eames dropped his head onto the car with a groan. "Don't you bloody _dare_ start that eco-friendly crap again," he warned. "I'm sure Ariadne has at least one kiddie toy in her back seat that could be inserted into an orifice, painfully."

A mother walking past with her daughter gave him a disproving glare, and Yusef sputtered to apologize for his teammate's behavior. Shaking her head, Ariadne went to take the gift bags out of the back of the car, followed by Arthur.

She gave him a small nod of acknowledgment as she busied herself with the gifts sitting in the trunk. He crossed his arms and leaned against the vehicle, watched as her eyes strayed, nervously, to the car seats visible over the back of the seat.

"You're still not happy about it, are you?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Ariadne gave him a tight smile but continued to stuff a card down the side of a bag.

"Of course I'm not," she said. "But I'll have to talk to him about it now, won't I? Especially if we're going to be offering him the job." She pushed the gifts into his arms, and did not warn him before she jumped up to close the hatch. Arthur, realizing the conversation was finished, started up the driveway.

The streamers and balloons that dotted the property were all in bright, cheerful pastels. "Happy Birthday, Phillipa!" declared a banner spanning the columns of the front porch. Below it, the cherry wood door was posted open to invite the party guests in.

Immediately, they were immersed in the noise of a house full of an army of children all under the age of ten. Yusef broke off with Eames, headed straight for the cabana bar outside where the adults were sequestered, standing around with beers. Arthur and Ariadne were left to seek out Cobb to give him the birthday girl's gifts.

"Uncle Arthur!" shrieked a little blonde girl who came bounding into the room, trailed by a handful of other little girls. They all were dressed in fairy wings, although Phillipa's were covered in small rhinestones. Predicting her trajectory, Arthur dropped to one knee, barely wrinkling his three-piece suit. She went flying into the lanky man's embrace, then pecked him on the cheek. "You came for my birthday!"

"Wouldn't miss it," he said with a severity that seemed to reassure the child. She took a step back from him, but spying the gifts in Ariadne's hands, looked up to the young woman, who was watching the whole scene with some anxiety. Arthur stood back up to introduce her.

At the same moment, Cobb came ambling into the room, a grin spread comfortably across his face. "Told you, sweetheart," he said, dropping to his haunches to give her a kiss on the crown of her head. Looking up at Ariadne, his grin widened. "Phillipa, I want you to meet my friend Ariadne."

She smiled at the little girl, absentmindedly noting her eyes were the same color as her father's. "It's nice to meet you, Phillipa, and I hope you are having a very happy birthday."

"Are those for me?" she gasped, starting to jump up and down. Ariadne gave her the packages and laughed when she took off with them. The room was suddenly devoid of a gaggle of fairy-winged children.

"Phillipa, you forgot to thank-" Cobb started to call after his daughter, but sighed tiredly when he realized that it was useless. "Thank you," he said to her, genuinely, then frowned when he looked around. "Where is everyone else?"

Arthur pointed. "Yusef and Eames are at the bar."

Another group of children came rushing past, a small tow-head blond little boy in the pack. The sound of their joyful screams caused Arthur to wince.

"And that's how I know it's time for a drink," he declared. "Cobb, Ariadne," he said with a nod before excusing himself.

Ariadne was left with an opportunity to take in Cobb's appearance. He looked _good_, content. His short-sleeved button down was only half tucked in, but in general, he seemed to be much more settled. He smiled.

"That," she said, pointing at his face. "That smiling thing you're doing, that's new," she observed, returning the expression with a matching one and a laugh, despite herself. "You look happy."

"I've got you to thank for it, and I've never had the chance," he admonished. Before she could process what he was doing he had pulled her in for a friendly hug. Her keys, still in her grasp, hit his shoulder.

"Sorry," she sputtered, even as he dismissed her apology with a wave. He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and gave her a quick once-over. His eyes settled on the keys, and what had been growing ease dissolved into unease.

"The girls could have come, you know."

She shook her head. "Visiting their father, today. My friend took them for the afternoon and is probably feeding them far too many sweets as we speak."

"Why didn't you tell me about them?" he asked, and the hurt was there underneath the attempt at nonchalance. He pointed to the colorful photo fob on her keys.

She drew a hand through her dark hair. "Because we promised to give you space. Because you were settling in to fatherhood again," she replied, honestly. "Because I wasn't sure how permanent the situation would be. Because I was and _still_ spend whole portions of my day scared shitless that I'm totally going to mess this up. It's been a busy time. How much did Arthur tell you, exactly?"

"Just that you were taking in somebody's daughters." He leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed. "I'm glad you took Miles' invitation and moved in with him; they had a little practice in that department." There was a note of regret to his voice.

"Miles and Florence have been amazingly kind," she commented. "And they're not just 'somebody's', their a patient's children. His wife wasn't in the picture, and with him unable to care for them..." she glanced, briefly, at the photograph on the key chain of the two little dark-haired girls there and there was that familiar warm sensation flooding her chest. "You kind of can't help but love them," she finished, softly.

There was a strange warmth to his gaze. "Being a foster parent is an incredibly selfless act, Ariadne." His eyebrows knitted together, a concerned expression growing on his face. "But it's a lot to handle. Please know you can call me at any time. I could even watch them if the three of you ever need a break. Semi-retirement makes me the perfect babysitter. If you and Arthur have a date night, or something..."

Very smooth. "Well, that scenario won't be a concern," Ariadne declared briskly, and Cobb raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "We broke it off a while ago. Different priorities, and then there was the whole 'trust' issue." This was his best friend, so she wasn't going to throw her ex-boyfriend under the bus. Besides, they had kept a friendship in the aftermath, and it had benefited the team on jobs immensely.

Cobb gave her a sympathetic look. "He's a loyal person, Ariadne. He just...occasionally over-shares other people's information while trying to help. When I met you, I told him not to share a word about Mal with you. Quite frankly, I'm glad that he did."

And there it was: that moment where a slightly uncomfortable meet up could have plummeted into entirely painful. It never happened. Cobb did not even look pained as he mentioned his wife's name. Ariadne let go of a breath she didn't even know she was holding in.

"Okay, enough talk, let's get you some cake," he announced, guiding her into the kitchen. The three other men had ended up in the kitchen as well.

"Actually," Yusef said in an apologetic tone. "We were hoping we could _all_ talk to you about something."

Arthur was followed by a confused Cobb out of the room. The group exited as well, though not before Eames grabbed a slice of the cake. Arthur shot him a dirty glare when he noticed. Cobb, unaware, called out to Miles to keep an eye on the kids for a minute.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor of the home. The landing itself was an open seating area, and allowed Cobb to keep an ear on the party. He settled into an old recliner chair and waited.

Ariadne rested her weight against the banister and watched the others arrange themselves. It was sort of funny, to see how easily they settled into their half circle around Cobb, as if they were back on the Saito-Fischer inception.

"It's about the job we've been doing," started Arthur but Cobb effectively cut his best friend off by pushing out of the chair and starting to walk away.

"Don't say another word," he warned, sternly. His gaze swept over all of them. "I understand that you all are free to make your own decisions about what you do for a living, but I am _not_ risking the loss of my family _ever_ again." With swift, angry steps, he crossed the space to look over the side of the banister. Beside him, Ariadne could see the haunted expression his face showed.

After a quick glance at the others, she turned back to the man beside her, licked her lips nervously, and then started. "Cobb," she said, gently. When she put a hand lightly on his arm, he turned to watch her. Ariadne wondered what he was thinking; they had decided to come on the day of his daughter's birthday, no less. "It's not an extraction or an inception-"

"-God knows we are _never_ trying that again," muttered Eames, receiving dark looks from Arthur and Eames.

"This is something really quite different. Do you remember the research that Miles has been discussing with all of us?" Arthur asked. He didn't wait for Cobb to answer. "That was boasting, not hypothesis. We've been working with a research team under his control for a while."

"It's all been very hush-hush," explained Eames. "Miles wasn't sure if you'd be interested in it or not, and since it's our responsibility as a team to recruit, he told us we'd have to give you the song and dance."

"What, exactly, is 'it'?" Cobb had turned to face the group once more. Yusef beckoned their Extrator back over to the seating area.

Arthur perched on the edge of the couch arm, and leaned over the coffee table. "Surfacing, Dom. Remember all those times we talked about wishing there was some positive way to apply the DreamShare technology? This is it.

"You know how you hear about those people who are in these comas, for reasons that cannot be explained by any medical professional? We found that by giving them the compound and hooking them up to the PASIV machine, their dreams are pretty much like ours. We do an easy extraction, then go in a second time and use the information gathered to force the person to realize they're dreaming. Most patients take a few hours to surface."

"This is, I mean, it sounds really great, guys," said Cobb, and Ariadne could tell he was winding up to explain why he was turning them down. She didn't let him get that far.

"What Arthur left out was the fact that-" Arthur looked incensed.

"-Ariadne, stop it, he wouldn't-"

"-Oh, please," uttered Eames, dramatically throwing himself backwards on the sofa. "Now he'll want to hear it-"

"-I do," confirmed Cobb even as Eames continued to speak.

"-Because Arthur say's he wouldn't want to hear it, and as we all very well know, Arthur saying 'no' means Cobb saying 'yes'."

There was a tense moment where no one said anything, but finally Yusef threw his hands up brought them back down to his legs with a slap.

"Saito is funding us, Cobb. He has a son, and he was involved in an MVA. They tried to bring him out of his medically induced coma and he _never woke up_. If you don't join us, if we don't get his son out, he threatened to pull our funding, as well as ensure that all of our other backers do the same. Financially, the whole lot of us would be fine, but it's the patients we're worried about."

Eames studied his fingernails. "Actually, it's my paycheck that concerns me the most," he muttered, and Arthur reached back to elbow him.

Yusef shook his head but recommenced speaking. "As I was saying, some of these patients have no hope of waking up without being surfaced. We give them a second chance at life, Cobb, and we won't have that option to offer them."

"The institute is located about twenty minutes away from here," said Ariadne. "We have a day care center on site, and you would only have to work a few hours a day. Some days I even do my floor plans and work at home. It's a dream job, for a parent." She felt a little guilty playing that card, and he must have realized she had done so. He looked away.

"Give me some time to think this over," he requested quietly.

"We need you, Cobb," she could not help but add.

He didn't answer, and they took it as their sign to leave. Just before they hit the door, Phillipa came running into the foyer, fists on her leotard-clad hips.

"You didn't hug me goodbye," she accused, scowling. Arthur started to lean down to assuage the little girl, but she shook her head furiously.

"Not _you,_Uncle Arthur. Airy-Odd-Knee."

The woman looked startled. "Oh, oh I'm sorry, sweetheart," she apologized. She leaned down and gave her a hug. Over the tip of a rhinestone-covered wing, she could see Cobb at the banister above. He regarded the scene below with an emotionless gaze.

* * *

**E**ames may have been a Forger, but it took some time to get to that point of expertise, please and thank you. He had worked his way up, starting with the easiest of pick-pocketing to unarmed robberies of banks. Extractions were an easy next step, but they left little use for his quick fingers.

Perhaps that was the explanation for why Arthur was always able to slap his hand away before it turned the radio on. Surfacing was leaving him out of practice.

Something with a jingling keyboard started to play; it was one of Arthur's favorites. The British man looked over at Arthur out of his peripheral vision. Content that he was fully focused on the road, his fingers started to dart towards the dial-

Only to be crushed in the Point Man's lightning-fast grip.

"If you mess with the Chairman of the Board," he said, evenly, and his eyes never left the road, "I will be cleaning your blood off of my upholstery."

It caused a wicked grin to spread across Eames' face. He turned and smiled sweetly at Arthur.

"Darling, if you wanted to hold my hand you could have simply asked."

Arthur let go of his hand as if it was poisonous, and the passenger settled back into his seat, smug.

The driver simmered for a while before saying "You realize Cobb is going to take the job." He let his gaze flicker from the street to Eames, who looked at him, innocently.

"Terribly sorry, but was that a question?" He continued on before physical violence could be carried out. "We all _know_ he will. Between you trying to stop him from hearing the deal, Ariadne asking, and the fact that it's Saito's son, I consider this a done deal."

"Finished," Arthur corrected him, absentmindedly as he pulled onto Eames street. Eames cast him a withering look.

"Yes, but it's doesn't sound so good."

Arthur messaged the bridge of his nose, as if he was getting a migraine. "Out," he demanded, and Eames readily complied. After shutting the car door, he ducked to look back into the vehicle at Arthur.

"Don't tell me you're moping because Ariadne is all doe-eyed over Cobb and you aren't over her."

"You know that's not true," retorted Arthur, but then he turned and stared at Eames. "You _know_ that's not true."

Eames gave him a clueless look and shrugged.

"I just...don't want to see either of them getting into some sort of relationship where they end up hurting one another."

"Love, that won't be an issue, seeing as they both have _far_ too many as is...they're incredibly adept at their roles as tragic heroes."

Arthur snorted. "Who does that make us?"

"Gary Oldman and Tim Roth."

"That...makes little to no sense whatsoever."

* * *

**H**ours later, Ariadne turned onto the tree lined cul-de-sac to her home, finally parking the Jeep at the curb. Her former professor's car already sat in the driveway, and two little girls were pressing their faces against the surface of the living room window seat's glass. Unable to prevent the grin that spread across her face, she hurried up the walkway and inside.

The shrieks and happy cries that occurred as the door opened were infectious. Within seconds, she had scooped up the toddler and was placing kisses on her cheek. Caroline squirmed to avoid them, but then changed tactics and started to smack Ariadne's cheek loudly with her lips.

"Did you have a good visit with Daddy, Peanut?" she asked the older girl, who then launched into a detailed account of her busy day, all the while latched onto the Architect's leg. Shuffling, she made her way into the kitchen.

"How could you have possibly beaten me home?" Ariadne exclaimed as she entered. Miles looked up from a notebook he had open on the table. Next to him, Florence was writing a list on a sheet of loose leaf.

They had to be the happiest divorced couple she had ever met.

"It might have had something to do with the siren-like call sent out by Florence's lasagna," he suggested airily, but then gave her a stern look. "Or it was the fact that I didn't pop into my office for 'just five minutes' to work on a report, on a _Saturday_," he added when Ariadne tried to make an excuse. She could only smile sheepishly.

The two little girls scampered back into the other room to play, and Ariadne landed in a seat at the table heavily. Curiosity getting the better of her, she glanced down at Florence's list.

"Thanksgiving dinner planning, already? Florence," she cajoled, _"attends."_

The French woman did not look up, but continued to transcribe from a set of note cards with names written on them in her beautiful penmanship. She refused to allow the other two adults in the house to show her how to use a computer, but had been finagled into buying a cell phone when Ariadne had shown her the picture of the girls she used as her background. Soon, Florence was flipping her own cell phone open and showing a picture of her two grandchildren to anyone who was in the vicinity.

"Make a joke now, but this is to keep us on time, okay?"

Miles cast a glance heavenward, causing Ariadne to stifle her laughter.

"Perhaps you ought to invite your family this year," suggested Miles suddenly, and before Ariadne could explain that it was not necessary, his ex-wife voiced her agreement.

"Of course you can invite your parents, _chere_," said Florence without looking up from her list. "_Bonne pour les filles, non?_"

The younger woman smiled politely and shook her head, feeling those internal walls start to build; the one that only allowed a watered-down version of her childhood to pass by it. "As much as I appreciate your very generous offer, you do not have to worry about me bringing anyone." Miles was watching her, now, so she knew she had to explain. "I don't really have much family, except for a cousin in...I think it's Vermont, and an uncle in Belfast, neither of whom are particularly close with me."

Florence, alerted by whatever maternal security system she had installed, looked up and over her glasses at Ariadne, studied her, and then mercifully, went back to her lists.

Ariadne excused herself from the room to check on the girls, who were very much involved in playing with their dolls and cars. When she went to turn to return to the kitchen, she found Miles standing behind her, regarding the scene fondly.

"They're so very young," he said. "And they are very lucky to have you. Lucky to have found someone who cares for them as you do."

Humbled, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly and cast another glance in their direction. "They _are_ young, and they deserve to be cared for much better than I ever could."

"You know I do not pry, but..." Twisting her head to face Miles again, she was startled by the look of concern in his eyes. "What happened to you?" he asked in a pleading tone.

Is that why he thought she cared for them, some deep-seated past issue with her own upbringing? Had she not moved past that part of her life?

"There isn't much to say, Miles," she answered, with a shrug. "My mother was a psychologist and a parent in that order, and I never really got to know my father. I think about some of the choices I made, when I was younger, and how different my life would be now if I had actual _parents_ at some point...I don't regret who I am, but if I can protect these girls from those things, just a little, I'll feel like I did something with my life."

Admitting those facts left her feeling a little bit exposed, but after everything her former professor had done for her, she at least owed him that honesty.

Perhaps it wasn't the whole story, but it was enough for the time being.

_That was a lie also,_

_I could go in if I wanted to._

_Whose house is this_

_we both live in _

_but neither of us owns_

_How can I be expected_

_to find my way around_

_I could go in if I wanted to,_

_that's not the point, I don't have time,_

_I should be doing something_

_other than you._

_-ii, _Hesitations outside the Door, Margaret Atwood

**Song list (with links if you're on livejournal):**

Party Scene: Big Jumps - Emiliana Torrini

Arthur and Eames: My Way – Frank Sinatra

Miles' residence: Meet Me By the River - Matthew Ryan Vs. The Silver State


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the amazing reviews! The conversations that some of us have started make me so very happy.**

**And a big thank you to swampophelia, for linking me to some resources because they have helped tremendously. **

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* * *

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**A** little more than a bit embarrassed about the previous night's conversation, Ariadne slipped out of the house twenty minutes early just to avoid talking to her mentor. She picked up the two cups of coffee at her usual place and took the short drive to the Institute's sprawling campus.

Ariadne still got a little chill every time she opened the door to the Perls building in all of its late Victorian splendor, still gave that little nod of acknowledgment to the guard who easily let her pass by. Even after countless cases, she still felt that the air was charged with such raw _potentiality_ that an employee could not help but walk through those doors and feel invigorated, inspired to attempt the seemingly impossible, once more. She swiped her ID and pressed her thumb on the scanner for access to the patient floor.

It was her morning routine, on the Sundays they had staff meetings: come in fifteen minutes early, have a small talk with the girls' father, and deliver whatever new drawing they had created for him in the past two weeks. She felt she owed him that.

The unit was small; it only housed patients involved in studies done by top-clearance teams that were usually long-term cases. At the moment, two nurses and a doctor were assigned for the overnight, with a secondary on-call staff.

Sonja, his night nurse, looked up from her charting when she heard Ariadne's boots on the linoleum.

"Here to see John?" she asked while pointing at the Architect with her pen. "Because he's been asking for you."

Ariadne rolled her eyes and handed Sonja her usual cup of coffee. "I'm sure he did, right after he tap danced around the unit. His vitals looking good?"

"If a man in a coma, with no changes in medication and no medical conditions suddenly took a turn for the worse, you'd have gotten a phone call, Ar."

She started to turn to go into his room, but saw a familiar figure sitting in the room across from the nurse's station. "How long has Nancy been here?" she asked with a frown, to which the nurse shrugged.

"I was in John's room doing the pressure ulcer check for fifteen minutes, and she wasn't there before that."

Bypassing John's room, she traveled over to Gary Winston's room, and his girlfriend inside. The pretty blonde was holding his hand, watching him miserably. It was strange to see her without a lab coat. In the doorway, Ariadne could see she'd been crying, so she started to try to creep away.

"Tell me, Ariadne," asked the woman as she wiped furiously at her cheeks, "when did our lives become some gender-reversed reenactment of the Smith's song?"

The petite brunette leaned against the door. "I wasn't dating John," she said quietly, "I never actually met him, to be honest. I'm just a caretaker for his kids...but I promise, Nance, we are trying. What happened to Winston-"

The blonde looked up, desperate. "Could he just wake up, on his own?"

Ariadne shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and heaved a heavy sigh. "His odds are just about what John's are, I think. If you want to talk to Professor Miles, I'm sure I could set something up. Listen, we've got the meeting in a few minutes, and I have to take care of something, but why don't you walk with the rest of us to the meeting? It's in the conference room and I still get lost finding it."

"But I was a Lab Rat," she said, suspicious. "Eames said that the Perls Lab Rats and Dream Teams hate each other."

"Eames tries that _West Side Story_ folderol on every new Perls team member," declared Arthur, walking up behind Ariadne. "Nancy, no one is going to try to enact revenge simply because you're switching sides." His eyes strayed from Nancy's to the prone form in the bed, and his typically calm expression faltered.

"Winston tried to do a One-Man and screwed up," said Nancy with admirable resolve. "Don't beat yourself up over my stupid boyfriend's mistake," she demanded before dissolving into tears again. Ariadne rushed forward to comfort the woman.

Patting their acquaintance on the back gingerly, Ariadne looked over at Arthur, hopefully.

"Drawings. Got it," he responded, before bending to slip them out of her briefcase and then striding to the other room.

"Come on, you can't be late for your first meeting," she reminded Nancy, guiding her to the hall. Arthur joined them, empty-handed.

"Besides, you get to now be on the receiving end of those jealous scowls of discontent. It's along the same lines of being a football player walking into a Chemistry Club meeting."

Eames, joining them as they walked down the hall, sniggered. "Because you are the very image of a former high school athlete, darling."

"I will bet you one of my track trophies that you didn't even _finish_ high school."

Ariadne and Nancy hurried to catch up with Yusef, leaving the two men to squabble.

* * *

**C**obb jogged to the front door, swinging it open widely when he saw Arthur standing on the other side of the small glass square in the center of it.

"Long time since I saw you," he said in lieu of a greeting. Unaffected, his former partner stepped in.

"The kids?"

"Out with Miles," he explained, then showed his friend into the living room. Arthur remained standing.

"We've been awfully patient, Cobb," he started, and the Extractor sighed tiredly.

"I figured this was coming," he muttered. "Two weeks is quite enough time to decide, though."

Arthur shrugged, an action that briefly wrinkled his vest. "Sufficient, but an inconvenience. We need an answer."

Cobb took a glance out the window and folded his hands, not knowing what to do with them. Taking care of his children, being able to do that, it was his something he had fought for, for so long. But there was a part of him that needed _more_.

Mal had understood what it was like; she had been just as addicted to the process of extraction as he was. They had clicked, because of that.

"I'll do it," he said. "But I want to know you all won't hold it against me if I back out at some point. I'm a little apprehensive as is."

His best friend cracked a smile. "If you weren't, I would be a little concerned, seeing as your subconscious hasn't always been terribly hospitable to visitors."

The seated man grimaced. "So what's next?"

"Normally, a formal application, psychological testing, drug tests...it's something akin to the C.I.A. recruitment process, only more stringent, except for the psych part."

Cobb raised an eyebrow.

Arthur smirked. "The ones that get turned away for suicidal tendencies and independent thinking are the ones that pass our tests," he explained, proudly. On the way out the door he patted his friend on the shoulder.

"Ariadne already knows to pick you up in a couple of days for your psych test. I'll send your regards and thanks."

* * *

"**G**ot a minute?" Ariadne asked at the same time she knocked on Miles' door frame. He did not look up from his notes.

"The practice of entering a room while simultaneously seeking entrance has always baffled me; it's always seemed a bit too passive aggressive."

As he spoke, Ariadne glanced past him to the stack of paperwork he had on the low shelf. Her eyes had been drawn to two folders a very particular shade of blue. Cobol blue. The edge of the company's logo was visible on the folder that was hanging out of the stack. Her heart started to pound.

Stephen turned and looked over his glasses at the woman standing in his doorway, and her eyes darted back to his. "What brings you to my office, my dear?"

She would scold herself later for the second of hesitation before saying "It's about Nancy; I'm not sure if she's ready for a Perls-level team, Miles. She's got a lot of baggage – not the kind we have. The 'go cry your eyes out, check in with a therapist, come out of it smiling and fine' sort."

He mulled this over. "So you want me to have a talk with her."

She nodded, distractedly, and then pulled out her phone to find a text message from Arthur. "Whenever you have time. My gut is telling me she'd be no good to us down there, and with Cobb...it could get messy."

"One new element at a time, I suppose?"

"Exactly. Sorry, but I have to go take care of something..."

Stephen Miles went back to his paperwork. Balancing a pseudo-secret institute and a position as a professor of architecture could taxing.

* * *

"**T**his really isn't necessary," Cobb said as he buckled his seat, even as Ariadne gave him a dismissing wave.

"Someone needs to watch your kids, anyway. We'll go to the park around the corner and feed the ducks."

Her eyes flickered to the back of the car, and he knew what she was thinking. Getting the four car seats, and then the four kids in the car, had left Ariadne a little frazzled.

"It's weird, isn't it?" he asked, unable to stop the smile. "Didn't ever picture this myself."

She nodded, smiled softly, and then put the car in drive. They hit traffic when she tried to take the waterfront route, but eventually they got to the psychologist's office. Cobb turned and bid the children goodbye, and steeled himself for what was about to take place.

"You haven't been inside one of those since Mal, have you?" Ariadne asked, watching him seriously.

"Not really, no. Didn't see the need...and then I met you, and facing deeply seated psychological issues wasn't much of a problem. The idea that someone is about to force me to face all of that again, even if it's in reality, is a little disconcerting."

She seemed touched by the half-compliment that had been included in his reply. The Architect gave him a wry smile, and tilted her head. "My mom was a psychologist. Just remember that most of them could use a little help themselves."

"Good luck, Daddy," bid James, waving a tiny hand at his father.

"Thanks, buddy," Dom replied, genuinely. When he twisted in his seat to face front, Ariadne put a hand on his arm.

"You'll be _fine_," she said, and even her chocolate gaze seemed to smile at him. "Now get out of my car before the car behind me rear-ends me."

He swiftly complied, crossing the street with a light jog, and wrenched the door to the office open before he lost his nerve.

The office was located in a recently refurbished home downtown. The floorboards creaked in that typical, brittle way. The room felt a little humid.

Dom only waited a short time before the receptionist called his name, and he was led down a narrow hallway to the psychologist's office. Doctor Breton stood to greet him in the library-like room.

"Strong, firm handshake," the psychologist praised. "Well, that's a good sign. Have a seat and let's get to it."

The leather armchair was near enough to the window that he could see the practice's parking lot, and the park beyond it. Ariadne was sitting in the sandbox with all four children. He wished he had a camera.

"Okay," started the man across from him, and Dom was startled into paying attention. "Today we get to skip through a lot of the typical application work, seeing as you have experience and Miles told me not to bore you. I'm not going to try any of that crap they show on television, so if you were worried you'd have to revisit that one horrible memory from your childhood you avoid at all costs," he paused, and watched Dom carefully before grinning. "Don't be."

That was probably a good thing, seeing as there more than just one of those memories from his childhood that fit the description.

The questionnaire they went through was extensive, and some of the questions took sometime to answer, or required him to elaborate. Yes, he had been depressed – his wife had died. Yes, he _had_ questioned reality and contemplated suicide – he hadn't been sure if it was a dream and his _wife had died_.

"Can I just say something?" he interjected, and Breton looked up, concerned. "I'm answering those things, but they're all in the past. I've felt healthy and haven't considered suicide in a very long time."

Dom couldn't help but steal a glance out the window. Ariadne had all of the kids sitting on the hood of the car, eating ice cream. He leaned forward in his seat.

"I got my life back, Doctor Breton. Why would I give that up, especially when there is so much potential in it?"

Doctor Breton dropped the clipboard onto the desk, and his pen skittered across the surface. "Yeah," he announced with finality. "We're done here, Mr. Cobb."

"Just like that?" he had to ask, but could not help the note of disappointment in his voice.

"'Just like that'," the doctor parroted, standing to usher him to the door. "Except for whatever H.R. and security will put you through on the first day, I guess."

Ariadne looked up from wiping James' face with a wet wipe, worry etched across her pale face upon seeing how quickly he had walked across the parking lot.

"I start next week," he said simply, causing the woman's face to light up.

"He cleared you?" she asked, disbelief quickly turning into happiness.

"That appears to be the case." Their was a mutual flurry of movement and then they were hugging, tightly. "Thank you, Ariadne." It came out in a mumble against her shoulder, but he was sure she got the idea.

* * *

"**-A**nd then Phillipa comes into the room, and asks us what color her father's eyes are, and before I can so much as _blink_, Ariadne is showing her _exactly _what shade to use." Eames pauses for a moment, pulls a grenade out of seemingly nowhere, and chucks it around the corner. There are screams and then a second later it goes off. "It's all so pathetic, you know?"

Yusef shrugs, far too nonchalant for someone who is listening to at least three people stop existing. "So she's holding a torch for Cobb. I think we all know that was an inevitability. Tell me, why are we spending time discussing this here?"

"Think about it, brain-boy," snaps Eames as he advances, catlike, around the next corner. "An hour of shooting the breeze down here is actually only five minutes of real time wasted on this."

Yusef chuckles and pats his friend on the back. He's feeling giddy, since he's never actually lasted this long in training dreams. Seeing as Arthur was busy, Eames has teamed up with the Chemist and it is to Yusef's benefit. "Never let it be said that your are an inefficient person."

"Duck," commands Eames right before he swings around with a semi-automatic, and the other man readily complies.

"Don't shoot!" whispers the person advancing towards them. "Please don't shoot me!"

Nancy appears, eyes shockingly wide and blonde hair mussed beyond reason. She's holding her hands up as if in surrender.

Eames frowns. "Do you not understand the rules? Pairs. Pairs that shoot other pairs. Pairs that shoot other pairs and try to stay the longest."

"I accidentally shot my partner, alright?" she hisses, and looks pleadingly at Yusef, who can barely see her in the dark. "Can't I just join up with you guys for this round?"

Yusef remembers the first time he was down here, and how frightening it seems: like a laser-tag game on steroids. Eames isn't answering but is considering this, and while he is doing that, Yusef says "Of course you can."

Somewhere along the way, about two minutes before the dream ends and they win, Nancy grabs onto Yusef's hand in the dark, whispers an appreciative 'thank you' in his ear and he smiles back, even if she cannot see it.

* * *

**T**he sound of the elevator doors opening echoed off of the wall of the empty room, the sound floating up to the steepled ceiling and bouncing back off of the glass skylights before reverberating and dissipating in the empty space.

Each team had a work space – a 'think tank', as the business minded members of the Institute called it. Normally, they were created by taking down a central wall between two old patient rooms and refurbishing the new space with some tables and chairs, maybe a chalk board.

Being a Perls team, one of the _top_ Perls teams, meant something a little better. Being the best meant a room at the highest location in the building.

Miles had wanted to make the distinction physical, a clear-cut sign that they were not to be bothered.

Dom stepped out of the elevator and looked around the space. Aside from the hum of the air conditioner, there was no outward sign that much had been done to renovate the lofty solarium that could double as a ballroom.

Arthur breezed past him, only stopping in the center of the floor. "We're the only ones with badge access to this floor," he explained. "Miles sort of keeps us on special reserve for only the hardest of cases. The walls," and at this he pointed to a strange grouping of panels in the corner, "are completely moveable, so we can configure whatever private sections we each separately need for testing and research."

"Just don't look behind the last one," whispered Ariadne playfully at Dom's side. "We hide the bar behind that one."

He didn't want to ask.

In the corner, and he saw this with some trepidation, were three chaise lounges, decently upholstered. Between two of them was a small table, and on top of that, what looked like the insides of a PASIV device.

"That's different," he muttered, stepping closer to inspect it. At one time in his life, Dom Cobb had been able to _build_ a PASIV machine. This one was much more intricate, and appeared to be made out of predominantly plastic parts.

Arthur meandered over to the other two.

"It's altered; we had the benefit of dedicated space, so we had a slightly different version fabricated that's better equipped to use the new compound for surfacing. Somnacin was a little too strong for what we needed, and we needed a machine that was shock-resistant." When he saw the look of concern on Dom's face he added, quickly "Not that we will be needing a defibrillator on any of the cases you're involved with, I promise. Starting you easy, old man."

"Like riding a bike," Dom muttered, knowing he had used that line more than once himself, and had spoken it to others.

Ariadne watched carefully, seemed ready to say something, but Arthur spoke first. "We don't have to do this today, Dom. If you're not ready."

"Oh, no, no that's not it. I am."

"You're worried," the young woman declared, "that she'll appear."

He tore a hand through his hair, and sighed. "Yes...there's no way to know for certain."

"Well, if she does, then we know what to do. We'll do it again."

It was obvious from the expression on Arthur's face during the exchange that she had never shared the events that took place in Limbo with him. It was yet another reassurance that he knew this woman, and what she stood for. Another sign that he could trust her, completely.

Arthur busied himself with preparing the IV lines. "Let's start with recreating this building," he said. "Go off of whatever you picked up on the way here."

Cobb didn't even feel the usual quick-sand feeling with the new compound; just one minute he was laying on the lounge, and then the next, the three are standing in what looks to be an exact replica of the room, or close-enough in the dream that they cannot spot inaccuracies. The younger two amble around, checking out the details, marveling as they do so.

It's easy. It's as easy as breathing. This thrills him, a little.

Curious, he crosses back to the elevator, and they follow him. He presses the number for another floor, and the elevator smoothly travels down to the level that is pushing itself into dream-existence. It's a floor he's never been on.

Arthur takes a hesitant step out, first, looks around, and then down at the carpeting below his highly polished shoe. Ariadne stares as well.

"Something is wrong." Dom states it, but knows they understand to take it as the question it intends to be.

"You have the details of the carpet down, precisely," says Arthur. The brunette woman's eyes wander over to a spot beside the elevator.

"And the coffee stain from Pierce in Medical Records," she says in a faint voice. This means something, he knows it does, but being out of practice at all of this means he's struggling to understand his own actions until she spells it out. "You've built all of this by using _our_ memories, Dom. You extracted memories without even meaning to."

So they spend time showing him the rest of the building, explaining that in reality, it's an old Victorian Sanitarium that they renovated. When Miles and his associates finally got clearance to extend the building, it broke the architect's heart to destroy the building. Out of a window, he can see the other, more modern buildings on the campus.

"Technically, this is a satellite site for a university. People just think this is some part of a pre-med program that they cannot get into, or something."

There are projections on the roof of one of the buildings, taking a cigarette break. They pay them no mind.

Finally, they ride the elevator back up to the top floor, and it's still perfectly intact.

"It's quiet," he notes, realizing he hasn't seen another soul on the campus.

"It's Monday," Arthur explains. "We only have a half-day on Monday."

Dom frowns. "So why were there people on that building's roof?"

The three of them rush over to the side windows, the long row of them that make up the wall along the side. No one is visible now.

"They're projections, Cobb," Ariadne reminds him. "They probably ambled off. You know how to tell a projection from a real-"

Her words are cut off by the sound of the window breaking, and her body being propelled backwards by the force of the slug. She's already dead by the time her light form hits the wooden floorboards, her brown eyes open and unseeing.

Arthur and Cobb race back to the window. Standing at the edge of the roof is a young man in an impeccable, blue suit. It's hard to tell from so far away, but it looks like-

"There is too much time left," snaps Arthur, checking his watch. "Cobb, you're the Dreamer, you're going to have to try to wake us up."

"You know it doesn't-" Arthur interrupts him, smooth and harsh as a knife.

"-This is surfacing, and it's not the same. Just wake us up."

He tries to feel his body, laying in the chair. He can distantly feel the pressure of a light hand on his shoulder. He looks over at the person's crumpled body just before the building starts to fall apart and he woke up gasping, as did Arthur.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, instinctively trying to sit up, despite Ariadne's hands on his shoulders. He looked up into brown. Brown eyes that had been empty. He could feel the weight of a body that had been broken.

"Breathe, Dom," she commanded when he continued to take in gasping breaths. "It was a dream, only a dream."

"What the hell was that? Was that me?" he demanded. Arthur was gracefully cleaning up, but he gave him a quick incline of his head to confirm his fears. "Did I do that?"

Ariadne finally succeeded in getting him to lay back, and she perched on the edge of the furniture by his hip. "In surfacing, only the Dreamer can bring in projections, unless a team member is trained really, really well. Buildings and inanimate objects are one thing, but people? It's really only the Dreamer who can do that," she assured him in a soothing tone. She squeezed his shoulders. "Today won't happen again during a job, I promise."

Her hands hadn't left his shoulders, and he was surprised when he realized that he didn't quite think he wanted her to remove them. The sound of the used IV equipment hitting the bottom of the trash can brought him back to reality. Arthur unrolled his shirtsleeve as he walked back over.

"So are you in, Cobb?"

Cobb swung his legs over the side, so he didn't have to look at the woman now behind him. He stared at the floor, over by the window, and could easily imagine shards of glass and blood.

"So long as you _know_ that this won't happen again on a job, to any of you..." he sighed, knowing that he was giving in to that old addiction, that need to build, to manipulate, to steal, knowing that this was only a way to condone the behavior. "Yes."

He left quickly after that, assuring them that he could find his way out, and the remaining pair watched from the window as he made his way to the car.

"So that was disastrous," noted Arthur, dryly. Ariadne shrugged.

"Didn't hurt. He woke _both_ of you up, though, didn't he?"

"Well, yes, but-" he stopped talking when he noticed the young woman was already by the elevator, pressing the button to call for it.

"Then I think he'll be fine."

* * *

_What do you want from me_

_you who walk towards me over the long floorboards_

_your arms outstretched, your heart_

_luminous through the ribs_

_around your head a crown_

_of shining blood_

_This is your castle, this is your metal door,_

_these are your stairs, your_

_bones, you twist all possible_

_dimensions into your own_

_-iii, _Hesitations outside the door, Margaret Atwood

* * *

**Song list (with links if you're on livejournal)**

**Ariadne visits John: **Push Your Head Towards the Air – Editors

**Cobb's trip to the psychologists: **Sondre Lerche – It's Our Job


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Nolan is the genius behind **_**Inception**_**. I am only borrowing but I promise I'll return them.**

**

* * *

**

"**F**ace it," sighed Yusef, "he's never going to show."

"Give him time," voiced Arthur, bent over the table and flipping through the dossier. "First daycare drop off."

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and out stepped their Extractor. Ariadne, who had been pulling a wall over to the other side of the room, paused and gave him a sunny smile.

"Now that we're _all_ here," Eames singsonged. "Let's get started, shall we?"

They spent the next few hours going over the case: Ilsa Redford, 85, of Beverly Hills. Only daughter and heiress of an old Hollywood director (whose extensive list of films was rattled off, without effort, by Arthur). Her granddaughter, even more wealthy, was getting married and hoped that the Institute would be able to help her grandmother in time for her wedding.

Arthur had gone in for the extraction on a solo, found she was looping. At that statement, the team settled into their seats in a way that left Cobb raising an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

Eames sat up in his chair. "Looping occurs, usually, when the subject has some sort of unfinished business or guilt. In those cases, the dream is always the same, and always repeated. It takes an outside force," at this he gestured around the room at everyone, "to surface them."

"If we can progress their time line, we stabilize the dream enough for us to get them to _realize_ they're dreaming, and that they need to wake up,"elaborated Ariadne. From the way he was looking at her, she figured that Cobb was thinking of Limbo, of her shooting Mal. He seemed to be seeing something past the walls of the room they were in, and it left her feeling uncomfortable.

Arthur handed Dom a few pages of notes. "I don't think it will be much of a problem getting her out; no real deep-seated issues down there, just a single regret."

The Extractor looked up from the pages, to his best friend. "Which is?"

Eames tapped the chalkboard behind him, where an old black-and-white photograph was taped. "She never got to tell her soldier boy that she loved him. Bit sad, really. Anyway, she keeps reliving some big party where he confessed his love for her, and being Daddy's darling, she never went after him."

"So we fulfill her fantasy."

Ariadne shook her head. Now for the hard part. "We're not," she answered. "Eames is going to Forge himself into looking like her husband. After the soldier leaves, he will remind her of the life they have together, and why she should wake up."

Cobb nodded, taking it all in. They _had_ promised that it would be an easy case. "Just tell me one thing: is her husband really still alive?"

Of course he would think of that, of waking up and finding what you thought you knew to be the truth was only really smoke and mirrors. Ariadne assured him that the husband was alive and well, and missing his wife. He seemed to relax a little after that.

Yusef laced his fingers across his stomach and smiled broadly. "And while all of you are doing that, I will be here, monitoring your vitals, just in case. It's the hardest part, after all."

Eames snorted and rolled his eyes.

They went over their parts, how Dom would be on hand to extract information should it be needed in the surfacing, how Ariadne had constructed a building adjacent to the hotel where the party was being held (just in case), how Arthur would probably be bored out of his mind in an old woman's dream.

"Lies," laughed Eames, "Arthur is going to be a kid in a candy store with all this big band music and the like, aren't you, darling?"

Arthur kept his face expressionless, but said to his partner "You just never know when you need a Point Man. We had a deal, Cobb: no going down without one another. Does it still stand?"

Cobb looked up from appraising one of Ariadne's floor plans. "Of course," he replied, without hesitating.

"Then we will monitor the subject for a few days, track her R.E.M. cycles and compare them to the time line of the dream. Until then, let's all enjoy a little down time, shall we?"

Cobb smiled softly at Arthur; it had a touch of paternal pride. "Leadership suits you, Arthur."

"Had to, without you here," was Arthur's terse reply. "It's really great to have you back, Cobb."

It was a rare moment in their friendship, for them to be so open with one another. Cobb gave the Point Man a brotherly pat on the back and bid everyone goodbye.

* * *

**A**riadne knocked on the door, and waited for the seated man to give her some sign to come in, despite his door being wide open. The folders were moved, but put back into the same pile of work. Good.

"Yes?" Stephen asked, and looked up..

"I'm rescuing you from your paperwork and inviting you to Mel's for lunch," she announced, smiling. Her heart beat a little faster at the realization that this was all going to be one of the biggest deceits she'd ever perpetrated in a while. At least in reality. "Don't know about you, but I haven't had a decent thé à la menthe in a while."

"Well, if you're buying..." he prompted, merrily, then pointed at his desk. "Give me ten minutes."

"I'll meet you in the parking lot, then."

It had been a while since Ariadne had lifted something from somebody in real life, and for the most part, lifts were Eames' area of specialty. She managed it fairly well, ghosting the ID card into her jacket pocket during a clumsy looking bump into Miles when they passed in different directions.

"Sorry! Looking for that report I wanted you to look at during lunch about potential changes to department regs." She fumbled through her briefcase, balancing it against her hip and slightly raised knee, continuing for a few minutes before exhaling loudly. "Damn it, I think I left it on my desk."

"Want me to wait?" he asked, but she dismissed his offer, saying she'd have to go hunt for it. "I suppose I'll start on over, then."

She turned, counted to four and then twisted back around. "Stephen," she called. "Don't take Grand Central, there's some kind of construction. Looks like the parkway is going to be our best bet." It would mean the ten minute trip would take him at least twenty, and she didn't even really need that long.

He thanked her and got into his car, where he would listen to a satellite radio station of classical music that had no traffic reports, which she already knew. Ariadne walked back in quickly, and took the elevator to the floor where their offices were located.

Miles' door clicked open with a quick swipe of the card, and she immediately closed it behind herself. The folders were still where they had been before; she carefully moved the stack of work resting on top of them over to his desk, and grabbed the blue folders. As she scanned one directly onto her own portable drive, she flipped through the other.

They were dossiers, with identical jackets. Only the small tabs on the top indicated that they were for the mother and daughter, separately. The information on her mother was a little out of date. Ariadne knew she was in D.C., at a new lab, although the file located her in Havana. Her mother's visage peered coolly up at her from the glossy photograph above her name: Ismene Maurer.

Surprise washed over her when she opened her own file and a younger, cheerfully smiling variant of herself lay inside. Her face was fuller, and her grin wider. Unsettled, she flipped the picture over to skim through the typed contents.

It was her life's story, up to a point and slightly revised (no doubt, by her mother). A progress report, signed by her mother herself, assured Cobol of her success during training, under her indirect command. There was no maternal warmth to it; it might as well have been a financial report. She placed the files back carefully, moved the stack of files to sit on top of them, and headed out the door after disconnecting her drive. She stopped by her office and grabbed the report for Stephen, having purposely left it on her desk, slightly buried, for credibility.

Grand Central was empty, as it always was that time of day. As she pulled into the parking lot, she could see through the window that Miles was waiting for her, tea already ordered for both of them. Guilt rose, unbidden, in her stomach, but she tried to tamp it down. He'd obviously been sniffing around her past without telling her, and it was important to know what others knew about you. The old Agency rhetoric was far too easy to spout, too easy to cite as an excuse for her behavior.

Later, Ariadne decided as she let herself into the little Moroccan restaurant. Later, she would confront him. After lunch. After she dropped the ID below his car door and then pointed it out to him on the ground. After she felt brave enough to admit the truth.

**

* * *

**

**T**he room is marble and gold and red velvet drapes dramatically falling from the ceiling. In the room below, the party-goers chat, sitting at tables or dancing on the polished dance floor. Everything is clean lines, and class and-

"Darling, you really must stop salivating," hisses Eames, purposely bumping into Arthur on the way to the bar. Arthur's look of adoration falters, flipping into a scowl for a second before he regains control of his features and his typically calm face appears, but there's something about the way he holds his head for the rest of the dream, like he's craning his neck to take it all in, that discreetly betrays his eagerness.

Cobb surveys the party and the room with more than a little weariness.

The last member of the team is curiously peering out the window at the Manhattan skyline, circa roughly 1942.

"It's lovely, but the perspective is off," she decides. Cobb sidles over to look for himself. It's as if the entirety of Manhattan has been draped over a gently sloping bowl, and they are at the center of it.

"She remembers the proportions from the first time she came here," he easily explains, but his frown grows as he continues. "She was eight years old and her family stayed here at this hotel."

Cobb looks down and messages the growing crease in between his eyes. Ariadne watches him, as always, slightly worried.

"Are you okay?" she asks in a calm voice, although it's forced.

"Just getting used to all of this," he utters. "It's like learning to drive a car without a steering wheel."

Eames saunters over with a champagne flute in hand and eyes Ariadne's dress critically. It's black, and vague, and it sort of hurts to look at it closely because she hasn't defined it. In truth, she had no idea what to wear, and the result is glaringly obvious. With the men, so long as they wore a black suit, they were fine (although Arthur's looked to be perfectly in keeping with the time period).

"It needs to be a little more specific, sweetheart," he chides, and in the time span of an eye blinking, Ariadne can feel the fabric has changed; air hits a part of her back that hadn't been exposed before. "Not perfect but it's better. Beautiful."

"Much more era appropriate," compliments Arthur before going to join the crowd with Eames.

Cobb appears to be starting to say something, but she holds up a commanding finger.

"Don't," she orders. "Don't say anything. You and your monkey suit can just keep on walking."

When they walk down the stairs, he puts a steadying hand on her back, and its presence causes her to nearly falter.

Eames wanders off to get into character, and Arthur spends time taking in the clothing and décor. The Extractor and the Architect are left to blend in, and bide their time. Ariadne can sense her building is finished on the other side of the ballroom, just behind a side door that hasn't existed before. Some of the party attendees are starting to get suspicious, but only a little. She knows that all three men are probably armed.

In fact, she knows that Cobb is, because at one point while they sit at a table he discreetly pats his side even as he scans the room with a grim expression. She can _feel_ how tense he is, anxiety rolling off of him in waves.

"Projections are going to catch on quickly if you keep looking around the room like that," she whispers out of the side of her mouth, behind her champagne glass. His blue gaze swivels to take her in. He looks good in a suit, she decides. He wears them well, in a way that is different from the restrained Arthur or the cocky Eames. It belies his usual confidence, even as he sits here, fearing the sudden appearance of his wife.

"Relax," she reminds him, bluntly.

"Not used to spending time on the sidelines," he explains, and then, spotting Ilsa and her beau on the dance floor, stands up swiftly. "Come on," he says, and offers her a hand. She stares at him, alarmed.

He takes the champagne out of her grasp. "If we sit here the entire time, people will notice."

She continues to gawk, not believing that explanation for a second.

He sighs, then says "Just come dance, Ariadne."

And for a while it's actually fun. Cobb is a decent dancer, and Ariadne isn't much worse, so they end up pairing together quite well. Seventeen-year-old Ilsa is positively enraptured with her soldier, and doesn't notice the projections' gradual suspicion of an outsider increasing. When the song ends, the soldier whispers something in Ilsa's ear, and she's clearly shocked. He leaves her on the dance floor looking heartbroken.

"She never thought she'd get over this," says Dom, with a sympathetic look, still moving Ariadne around the floor. "Never thought she'd find love."

"But then came Conrad," she reminds him.

As if on cue (as everything is in a dream), a dashing man wearing Eames' clothing asks Ilsa to dance. She cautiously takes his hand and he starts to maneuver them, while dancing, towards the door. The pair are too far away for them to overhear their conversation, but whatever is happening, the woman isn't recognizing her husband, and is starting to try to pull away from Eames. It's fairly obvious now to see that the projections are actively seeking out the intruder. Arthur, Ariadne, and Cobb all start to try to furtively make their way towards the door.

Whatever Eames is saying to the young woman does not have her pleased.

"Let me go!" she shouts, and all eyes are on Eames.

In an flurry of action, Eames sighs and grabs the woman, hefts her over his shoulder, and darts for the exit door. The dance floor's occupants and the rest of the party all start to surge towards the kidnapper. Arthur holds open the door to allow Eames through, followed closely by Ariadne and Cobb, and then he swings it shut, locking it. There is pounding on the other side, and the door jiggles, but it holds.

"Ariadne," prompts Arthur. She imagines that wall to be an unblemished surface, and so it is. The angered party is remarkably muffled.

"Put me down, you...you cad!" Ilsa shouts, pounding her fists against Eames back. Conrad's face shows a great deal of displeasure at her attempt to be released. The group moves towards the back corner of the room, where there is a pillar, with a mirror leaning against it, and a chair. He deposits her into this.

"Is this something George cooked up, because it's certainly not funny, not at all," the young woman seethes, trying to look prim in her seat despite her rumpled dress and hair.

"Ah, so George _was_ his name," says a rich voice. Conrad points a finger at Arthur. "I expect you to pay up when this is over."

"Save it, you two," snaps Cobb. The two men pause and turn to the Extractor. It's the first moment that he's shown any sign of the authority he used to have over the group. The affect of his words on Arthur is instantaneous. He's back to being all professionalism and poise.

"Mrs. Redford, we would like to have a word with you, please."

"My name," she declares, "is Miss Ilsa Farlow, and don't you ever forget that."

Cobb smoothly crouches next to her seat, and the others are taken aback by his forwardness. "Miss Farlow, we're here to help you. We're friends, and felt that we should intercede when we saw what George did to you."

Her eyes tear up and she wrings her hands in her lap. "Please, just let me go after him, I know if I try I can catch up with his taxi."

"But you _have_ tried," says Ariadne. She sits down on the floor on the other side of the chair. She knows that both Eames and Arthur hate how personally she gets involved when she is in the field, but she doesn't really care. She takes up one of Ilsa's hands into her own. They need to keep moving through this process and quickly, because while it's next to impossible to get through the maze-like hallway that leads to this room, there is always that one projection that does. "Do you remember trying? Remember going after the taxi, in the rain, and not being able to catch him in time? Think about how the rain felt, and how cold it was."

"No," she says but Ilsa cries openly, clutching at her face. Her sobbing lessens, and she looks up, confused. "Yes...wait, how?"

"This is a dream, Miss Farlow," says Arthur. "This is a memory."

"A memory?" she echoes. "So George really didn't leave me?" Ilsa looks as if she is about to spring from the chair.

Eames steps forward. "No, I'm terribly sorry to tell you this, but George did not come back."

"Maybe it's better this way then," she argues, bitterly. "If I get to be with him, here."

Ariadne squeezes her hand. "Try to remember, Ilsa. Remember what happened _after_ this party. Where did you end up going to college?"

"Vassar, of course," she readily answers, and appears shocked that she can.

Cobb adds "You studied art and you went to all the best parties. You met someone there, didn't you?"

Ilsa has suddenly matured, she's in her twenties, although she doesn't notice. She stares at the floor while she tries to think. "I met...I met a man. Conrad. Conrad Redford."

Ariadne gives her an encouraging smile. "That's right, you met Conrad."

"And you fought in front of the Pollock," adds Cobb, to which she laughs.

"It was positively the most downright hideous thing I had ever seen in my life, but-"

"But I loved it," interjects Eames, gallantly stepping forward. Ariadne mentally applauds his timing, his dramatic sense of entrance. "Almost as much I love you."

"Oh, Conrad," she breathes, getting out of the chair to embrace Eames. He reacts as they suspect the real Conrad will, when she wakes up.

"Honey," he says, gently. "Please tell me that you remember the children? The summer home on the Cape? You always loved it."

"The children..." she whispers. "I remember them. Doris and Steven."

"Do you remember the day Steven put Beth into your arms? The pride you felt?"

She's smiling now, through the tears, and probably somewhere in her fifties. Cobb watches all of this with awe.

"The birth of my granddaughter was probably the happiest day of my life, aside from marrying you, sweetheart. I miss you," she adds in a voice so hollow that it makes Ariadne ache with empathy. Cobb stands with his eyes closed, pained.

"I miss you too, honey. The whole family does. We want you there for Beth's wedding. Wake up and come back to me," begs Eames. Ariadne has always wondered how he does this so well. He'd have made an amazing actor.

Cobb hands her a photograph from his pocket; it's Conrad and Ilsa's wedding portrait.

"Oh, Conrad," she breathes, touching the picture's surface with brittle fingers. Her eyes fall upon her own reflection in the nearby, and her face shows her true age. "My Conrad." She says his name like a prayer.

"All you have to do wake us up, Mrs. Redford," coaxes Arthur. "Close your eyes, feel reality. Try to get a good hold of it, and then _push_."

Her eyes close, lids as thin as parchment, and she stands that way for a minute or two, whispers her granddaughter's name, and then she was awake.

Cobb wondered, afterward, at how similar it was to giving birth.

* * *

"**S**he tried to put me under, you know. My mother," Ariadne said in the quiet that was stretching between them, the uncomfortable kind created by mutual knowledge without acknowledgment. Stephen fingers almost slipped on the pawn they held, but he placed the piece down soundly.

The house was quiet – an odd occurrence- because Florence had taken the girls to the museum with her to see the most recent shipment of paintings be opened. The two Institute employees remained behind.

"That," he declared and gazed at her over his wire-rimmed glasses earnestly, "was a cheap trick."

Tense, Ariadne crossed her arms across her chest. She remembered what had happened the last time there had been a major lack of communication and how badly it had damaged their little group. She was trying to be level-headed.

"If you wanted information about me or my life, then you should have just _asked_ me. You trust me here, with those girls. You trust me to be on your top team. You _know_ why I came to you, asking for a second chance. When I found out I'd been working for Cobol, that my mother was heading the Agency and keeping track of me, that she was basically finishing what she had started years before, I had to get out."

They watched one another, as if they, too, were pieces on the chessboard. Only neither one really knew what the other one was capable of. Years of friendship and learning and trying, honestly trying, to create a sense of family out of raw material and it all came down to this: an insecure foundation. Ariadne was very much ready to truly build, and so she settled into her chair.

"After reading my Cobol file, and whatever you could get on my mother, is there anything else you want to know? Because if you ask me right now, I'll answer you with as much honesty as I have in me."

"I daresay I have already intruded too far as is, but there is one thing that the files left out."

She waited for the question she knew was coming.

His voice was surprisingly gentle. "What caused you to be removed from her custody?"

The memory would always be there, of _tall men in suits and one soldier, one young soldier, who couldn't be old enough to wear that uniform, and flashing lights, and her mother's expression – as if she'd been inconvenienced. The leather seats of a car. The shrinking, disappearing vision of her mother, emotionless as she watched her daughter be taken away. The feel of the bandage from the IV site._

Taking a steadying breath, Ariadne tried to explain.

"For two years, my mother had been playing these games with me. Guided visualizations, mazes on paper, reciting things...turned out later to be prototype phrasing for the project. It was the first time in my life that she had seemed to give a damn, so I tried so hard to please her.

"Then one day, she tells me we are going on a little trip. She takes me to her Cobol research building, into the lab. She got as far as trying to start the IV when the DoD police showed up. Turned out, she had figured using her own child meant she could skip the whole consenting process for DreamShare, and she could _teach_ me to think in a way that would give me an edge down there." Ariadne scoffed, pulled at a loose thread in the throw on the chair. "And guess what? It worked. Years later, when the Agency came to my high school and gave my class this test – it was a circular maze, a maze I had been able to solve when I was five – I passed with flying colors, tested into their Architectural training group, and got my scholarship for college."

"Where you met me."

"Where I met you. And now several years and a couple life-altering events later, here we are," she dryly said. Ariadne watched Stephen try to wrestle with his paternal streak and lose.

"I can understand why my actions upset you. I really am sorry for not having come to you sooner. Curiosity as to why you'd excelled so quickly got the better of me."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm really sorry I made you wait in traffic." Stephen's eyebrows rose, but he continued to study the chessboard.

She jumped over a pawn with an idle flick, knowing he had given her that move. It was something her mother had done once, only once, and it was one of those few instances where there had been, to the best of her recollection, any sign of affection.

They both watched the board, only halfheartedly playing. They were almost at a standstill.

"My king shall castle," her mentor announced, bobbing his head. Ariadne watched him move the rook across the two spaces, heard the scrape of the marble piece on the wood, and after only a second of thought looked up at Miles with startling clarity as thoughts slid into place.

"So what do _you_ know about Project Minotaur?"

* * *

_Alternate version: you advance_

_through the grey streets of this house,_

_the walls crumble, the dishes_

_thaw, vines grow_

_on the softening refrigerator_

_I say, leave me_

_alone, this is my winter,_

_I will stay here if I choose_

_You will not listen to resistances, you cover me_

_with flags, a dark red_

_season, you delete from me_

_all other colours_

_-iv, _Hesitations outside the door, Margaret Atwood

* * *

**Song list (with links if you're on livejournal):**

**Dream: ****Tangerine - **

**At Last** – Glenn Miller


	5. Chapter 4

**A**riadne's phone chirping woke her from a dead sleep. She rolled over quickly to grab it, for once thankful that her room was on the first floor and the girls were above, and answered it.

"Don't shoot," requested Arthur, "I let myself in and I'm in the kitchen." He hung up and the woman stared at her phone for an instant before throwing off the sheets.

She padded into the room, wincing from the blaring light, and found her friend sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. His hair showed signs of being greased back at some point, and his shirt was open by a few buttons.

"Jesus," she muttered, and he laughed softly into his cup.

"You're starting to sound like him."

Ariadne slipped into the seat beside him and before she had fully taken her seat, he turned and blurted "Would you be upset if I told you that I think I might be gay?"

She sat heavily in the chair. "I'm not quite sure why my opinion on the matter is important, if you are. And what caused you to question your sexual preference at," she paused and checked the microwave clock, "two in the morning? Does it have something to do with how you ended up looking like this?"

"I kissed Eames," he said. She stared at him.

"Alright."

"I punched him in the face and then I kissed him."

She stole his teacup and took a sip, masking her smirk as she did so. "He seems to have that affect on you."

Arthur appeared almost upset by her lack of hysterics. "I'm your ex-boyfriend and I just told you that I think I might be gay, and you're telling me you find my behavior to be _perfectly normal_?"

She held up a finger. "Now, I never said that. We go into people's heads for a living; we, as a group, are not normal. But you and Eames have been going about your witty banter for long enough for me to know that it's been flirtation."

"I didn't mean for it to be...I, Ariadne, I'm straight. Always have considered myself to be, but tonight Eames and I met up with Nancy and Yusef –they were on a date –and Eames wouldn't stop hitting on Nancy, and it bothered me, for no apparent reason.

"I got up and left, and Eames followed me, wanting to know what my problem was and then the next thing I knew I had punched him in the face and I was kissing him."

Ariadne listened, her head resting on her hand. When Arthur went back to casting a desperate look into the cup again, she asked "So what did Eames say?"

Arthur shrugged, and she knew how frazzled he was by the turn of events, because it wasn't the normal little eloquent lift and drop of his shoulders: Arthur appeared to be trying to shrink into his clothes like a turtle. "I didn't exactly stick around to find out."

She reached out and put a concerned hand on his tense arm. "Are you going to talk to him about this?"

He gave a small, pained laugh. "Once I figure out what 'this' is." Then, in a softer voice, he continued. "I don't understand it, I mean, you and I, we _clicked-_."

She nodded but hurried to say "Whereas you and Eames sort of explode. It could be a good thing, if you let it be."

He didn't comment, and Ariadne took it as the signal that the conversation was ended, at least for the time being. She pushed out her chair and rose from it, kissing him on the top of the head. "Sheets for the couch are in the closet where they always are, if you stay."

He grabbed her hand when she went to walk away. "Thank you," he whispered. She gave him a slight smile and squeezed his hand.

"Just because I'm not in love with you doesn't mean I don't love you, Arthur. I understand why you did what you did, now, and I respect that. I just hope you don't ruin a chance of being happy because you think you'll do the same thing again. Now I'm going to get a couple of hours of sleep before we have work later today.

**

* * *

W**hen she did wake again, Arthur had already left, and left the sheets folded on the sofa. Florence and Stephen were making breakfast, and the French woman pushed a cup of coffee into her hand.

"_Nuit compliqu__é__, ch__è__re_?" she asked, and gave her a sly wink. Ariadne sputtered to explain but realized it was far too much to get into at that hour of the morning. Complicated was right. Ariadne realized she would be in a fowl mood for the duration of the day.

Her PDA went off with its round of morning reminders, among them one to pick up a dessert for Garret's Opting Out party, and another to sit down with a pint-sized brunette to go over birthday themes.

"So Eames bets that Care is going to pick butterflies as a theme again," she said to Miles as she sat at the table. He looked up from his datebook, an eyebrow raised.

"I'd bet against him seeing as I've raised a few children in my time and know just how quickly their most favorite thing in the world changes," he replied.

Ariadne was informed, while helping the little girl to push her head through a turtleneck, that the party would be princess themed. Florence asked her what she wanted for her birthday, and the list of gifts began to grow and take on mythical, impossible aspects.

At the heart of it, the Architect knew, was the wish for a father.

She got the girls to kindergarten and day care, picked up doughnuts, and made it into work with a few minutes to go to the patient floor and check the night schedule to see that Sonja had the night off.

Good. This was good. It could work.

**

* * *

M**iles noticed a few things about his top team at the party rather quickly.

Eames and Arthur weren't talking.

Yusef and that new girl Nancy were.

Ariadne was ignoring everyone and moodily drawing a new floor plan on her napkin.

None of these seemed to bode well for the team. He picked the easiest issue and addressed it, first.

"I'm not accepting your vacation request, you know," he said to Ariadne. She didn't look up, but continued to draw. "The team has a breakthrough, and 'Every day without progress-'"

"'-Is really twelve days wasted'," she finished, parroting the Cobol adage. She fixed Miles with a weary expression and put her pen down. "I was fairly certain you wouldn't accept it, but I need to do _something,_ Stephen. We're not progressing fast enough, and the girls...look at this."

She pulled a drawing out of her pocket, where it was folded in quarters. It was a drawing of their home, signed by the little artist, fairly advanced for a five-year-old, and the family was drawn around it. Florence, Stephen, their mother, the two girls, and Ariadne, all indicated by different hair and eye color. Their father was missing.

"She drew this?"

"Yesterday," she said, tearing up. She leaned forward and whispered to him "Do you see why I can't keep doing this? I come home everyday feeling like I've _failed_, Miles."

He sighed, and sat up, surveying the party. "We'll talk about this later," he murmured under his breath before rising from the chair.

Two minutes later, as he paused in the middle of a conversation with Garrett, he looked over to find Ariadne was missing from her seat.

* * *

"**D**idn't expect to find you in here."

The slight woman startled and looked up from her desk, her red-rimmed eyes showing shock at his appearance. Cobb frowned. "Ariadne, what's wrong?"

"_Nothing_," she uttered. "I promise, just...just a little sad. Lot's of things piling up and I figured I would just come here to..." she stopped, and shook her head. Starting over after wiping at her eyes, she tried to give Dom a smile. It wobbled, but she persevered. "What brings you to the research floor?" she asked.

"Looking for you," he admitted, and leaned against the door. "Even though we're working together, I feel like I haven't caught up with you. I mean, it's just about every two weeks that we see one another, but you always dart out before we get a chance to talk."

She gestured grandly as she sat back in her chair. "Well, here I am."

There was something about Ariadne that made a warmth spread in his chest, radiate to his face, and present as a smile. "Come have a cup of coffee with me," he requested spontaneously and shocked them both. "Just a cup of coffee. You look like you could use a friend, right now."

They took the coffee back to the workroom, and dragged chairs over to a table. Ariadne, with the understated, efficient grace she always seemed to possess but never acknowledge, set about making her coffee, unaware that Cobb found himself almost entranced by the neat work of her slender fingers.

"There's always a reason for tears, Ar. What's going on?"

She explained that a former teammate of hers was Opting Out, and that they'd had a small party for the man earlier.

"I just can't ever imagine giving this up, all of this," she admitted. "Part of me sort of envies his ability to do so."

He'd heard enough, from Ariadne and the others, to understand what Opting Out meant. The serum they were using in the Institute's charity clinic was an antidote for Somnacin and any other drug that resembled it chemically. Reintroducing the drug into a person's system, after Opting Out, would lead to the equivalent of anaphylaxis. For the Somnacin addicted, it was a last-ditch-effort to save them. For an agent, it was an end to a career. The choice was always there, but not many took it up.

To him the concept was tempting, severely tempting.

"I've been thinking about it," he said, and regretted it immediately when he was the woman's frantic expression. "Not now, but maybe, someday."

"But you're so _good_ at this," she argued. "And for you it's a way to use your skills without guilt."

Sometimes, she spoke as if she saw into his very heart, and it was always jarring. She checked the time on her watch and told him he had to go pick up his kids from daycare, and that she had a report to finish, and left him to his own thoughts.

**

* * *

A**fter their work was finished (and any Lab Rats on the floor below left for the day), the team would gather around the old, antique wooden bar, with its dents and scratches, and have a few drinks. Eames would cheerfully perform the role of bartender with the same ease and knowledge as he did any of the other parts he played, and they would all enjoy themselves.

The bar itself was large, a solid piece of wood with a marble counter top, and had been placed on a large sheet of wood with castors, so that they could wheel it across the floor, and then place stools around it. How, exactly, Eames got the bar up to their workroom, was the subject of much speculation and little knowledge, as the British man refused to reveal the truth.

"Drink up, my beloveds," declared Eames, slinging a ratty towel over his shoulder. Yusef, probably in need of a little courage, as Nancy was with him, knocked back his glass far too quickly. Arthur and Eames, despite the fact that they had not spoken to one another since the club, shared a worried look. Yusef's inability to hold his liquor was a well-known joke to anyone who had seen him drink.

Their Architect had been busying herself with her cellphone, and while she usually protested at Eames filling her glass - "Got to get home to the girls" was the usual excuse – she was too preoccupied to stop him this time. The woman didn't look up until he had come to lean on the counter in front of Arthur, and attempt to talk with him.

"Eames," Ariadne called, swirling her untouched drink around in its glass. He slid down the bar top until he was in front of her.

"Yes, my love?"

"You've broken into a safe before, right?"

His attentive look slithered into a sly one. "Now, that was just an allegation that was never confirmed. I suppose you could say I have some hypothetical knowledge when it comes to cracking them, yes."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's say, for instance, you had a safe."

"A hypothetical one," he demanded.

"Yes, a _hypothetical_ safe. Now let's say that it was open, when you walked into it...but it closed and had a relocking mechanism. Would someone else be able to get in, or is it easier to break your way out?"

"Well, I suppose that depends upon the ability of the person getting you out of the hypothetical safe, doesn't it? Not that I've ever had to break my way _out_, but I'm going to assume the second option is the easier one."

Yusef let out an inebriated giggle. "What movie were you watching?" He dragged an arm along the counter, towards a half-filled shot glass, but Eames gracefully swooped it up and out of his way.

"You, my friend are cut off," he warned.

"Ass," he muttered, but returned to his conversation with Nancy.

Eames gave a dramatic sigh and wiggled an open bottle in front of her. "Care for some?"

She gave her glass one last swivel around, and Arthur felt something in his mind start to try to connect the movement with something...a memory, maybe. He was trying to force the recollection when she ducked to give him a kiss on the cheek and leave the room, bidding everyone a goodbye.

**

* * *

S**onja was standing anxiously at the elevator door, looking strange to Ariadne in a sweatshirt and jeans. She held up her phone.

"Ariadne, I respect the fact that you're a really private person, and I'm not expecting a round of True Confessions, but I need to have some idea about what you're doing."

As if to answer, Ariadne's eyes shifted to the silver suitcase that was gripped in her own hand at her side. Sonja gasped, started to say something, but found herself being carted down the hallway by Ariadne's surprisingly firm grip on her arm.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" she spat, then turned to see which patient's room they were in.

"John Doe? Please tell me the others are coming." When Ariadne didn't answer, and instead dragged a chair over to his bedside, she gaped. "You cannot be serious."

"I am, actually. I need to you just keep an eye on John and I while I'm under. And to _not_ let them follow me, okay? Now, the extra monitor is sitting in the hall, can you get that?"

The nurse came back in with a troubled expression, although anything else at that moment would be ridiculous. "You've got a reason you're doing this. This isn't just a job, is it?" She leaned forward, and despite the door being closed, whispered, incredulous "Are you in love with him?"

Ariadne froze, and then looked at the woman, balking. "No," she answered, too quickly. "No, but I love them," she said, and pointed at the sterling silver frame on the bedside table. "Everyday that he stays under is another day of _real_ memories that he could have been creating with them. I brought them up to visit the other day, and the way they acted, when I asked them to talk to their father, was the same way they behave when they visit their mother's grave. And that realization, it's been killing me."

The Architect appeared to be on the verge of tears, but she focused on sticking the electrodes in place and attaching the other wires. Sonja covered her shaking, fumbling hands for a moment, forcing the younger woman to look up. She must have seen the apprehension in the nurse's eyes, because when she spoke, her voice was hoarse with emotion, but assuring.

"I know it sounds crazy, but out of the group of us, I'm the only the one that has a chance. I'm not being cocky, or naïve when I say that. Just, just promise me, if something happens..."

"It won't," said the nurse, bluntly, and it was a commitment and a threat all at once. "But they already know."

"Okay," Ariadne said, and settled back into the chair. She took a deep breath and said "I'm ready."

**

* * *

E**ames started to wipe the bar down, stopping when the rag approached the cell phone she had left. Arthur was mimicking Ariadne's hand movement from before with his own glass, watching the drops in the bottom of the glass race around, forming a wobbling sort of circle. He realized what it reminded him of: Dom's top. His totem. The item that was supposed to determine when you were in another person's dream.

"What is she playing at?" mused Eames aloud, staring at her cell phone screen. Arthur, unease growing in his gut, looked over at the Forger. Eames showed him the message left on the screen. It was from the nurse named Sonja, and it said '_Meet you in John Doe's room in 5'._

"Eames," he asked, drawing out the man's name as his mind started to make the appropriate jumps of logic. "What were you two just talking about before she left?"

"Safes. Cracking them from the inside, to be precise." When he saw Arthur's reaction to that piece of information, he frowned. "What?"

"She can't. She wouldn't. Would she?" Arthur hurried for the elevator, leaving Yusef and Nancy to watch after him with peaked interest.

Eames followed after him, trotting to catch up with him by the elevator.

"Shit," Arthur declared, when he saw that one of the mobile PASIV cases was missing from its charger by the doors. When the elevator arrived , they both stepped in and Arthur slammed the button for the patient floor, muttering expletives under his breath.

"Whatever is going on isn't good, is it?" Eames asked, deathly serious. When he did not receive a response from Arthur, he nodded. "I'll take that for a 'yes', then."

As soon as the doors opened, Arthur swooped down the hallway to the room at the end of it, where Sonja was already scrambling out of her chair to stop Arthur even as he gracefully sidestepped her.

"She told me to stop you if you tried to go under," Sonja said, watching the men nervously.

"She knew we'd catch on," muttered Arthur, who now stood before the sleeping Ariadne, staring at her as if there was bomb in her place. "This is all my fault."

Eames tried to put a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder, to tell him it wasn't, but the other man jerked his shoulder out from under his touch.

"It _is_ my fault, Eames!" Arthur spat. "I'm the reason he is in a coma, and it's my fault Ariadne got involved in the first place."

The sudden gust of stormy wind blew rain in through the open window, and a few drops landed on the unresponsive Dominic Cobb's face.

**

* * *

I**t was raining, as Ariadne drove the car to Dom's house. She sped her way to his house and pulled into the driveway. A motion-activated light flipped on, and by the time she was in front of his cherry wood door, he was descending the stairs to open it for her.

"Ariadne," he said, half asleep and surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to come in, Dom," she said, shivering from nerves and cold rain. "We need to talk."

Concern flooding his features, he opened the door widely and ushered her in.

Neither noticed the police car at the end of his driveway.

"Yes, we see her, Mr. Charles," said the officer into his cellphone.

* * *

"_**H**e's starting the loop again," declared Arthur to the group, quickly disconnecting the IV. Suddenly, there was something very urgent about his actions. Yusef let out a disappointed sigh, but Ariadne gave him a hopeful expression. _

"_That gives us a couple hours to get Saito in here, right?" she asked. It had only been a few weeks since she'd been promoted, and just as long since she and Arthur had broken up, but they all worked together in such a quick manner that it was hard to tell who had been on the team the longest or least. "Because I really think we ought to take him up on his offer."_

"_He only is offering to help us if we perform the inception on that Fischer guy _before_ we surface him," argued Yusef. "Morally, do you think we can afford that?"_

"_Yes," said the other three, in unison. _

_Ariadne gave her ex a dark look, but explained to the chemist. "This isn't just about Saito's business, it's about helping keep us funded. With Fischer Industries dissolved, Saito's company will have more stability, and our funding will be secured. The government can only give us so much before it looks suspicious." In addition, it meant dissolving a company that backed Cobol, but her own personal reasons had to be set very far to the side as they went into this. _

_Eames held up a hand as if they were in class, and Arthur, clearly perturbed, looked at him pointedly._

"_So say we really do hook two comatose patients up to the PASIV, bring a tourist, and we all go down there for this little lark...how do we know we're coming back out? How do we even know this will work on Cobb? He's been in a coma for two and a half years."_

_"We don't," Arthur said earnestly. "But we can try. It's worth a shot. Any chance we have is."_

_Yusef shook his head. "I really don't feel comfortable with this. I mean, we're allowing a comatose man lead an inception on another comatose man. How do we even-"_

"_We'll improvise," interjected Ariadne, firmly. "And even if it doesn't work, if we can stabilize him, then we can go in afterward and continue working on surfacing him. Let's focus our efforts on surfacing Fischer."_

"_Like the boy deserves this, I mean, he ended up in a coma because he couldn't ski, for Christ's sake." Eames settled back in his chair, and crossed his arms. "Besides, we all know how Cobb's subconscious will react down there to the introduction of 'the other woman'. One look at our Architect here, he'll think she's a potential threat to his wife's memory, and then he'll have Mal kill her."_

_Ariadne wanted to ignore Eames' statement (even the part that was some sort of twisted compliment) but knew she couldn't . It was a serious problem if his subconscious reacted badly to her appearance; his guilt over Mal's death was monumental, and obviously one of the things they would have to work on, to stabilize him. _

"_What if he didn't perceive her to be a threat? What if...what if he just thought he was the one recruiting _her_?" mused Arthur. "We could let the memory of Miles introducing you to me play out, but let Cobb take my place in it."_

_Eames sat up in his chair. "There's a chance for a paternal attachment, or a teacher/student dynamic, but it would definitely be a protective one...that's actually rather brilliant, darling."_

"_Why, thank you, Mr. Eames." Arthur smiled softly for a moment, and then turned to Yusef. "Now you go call for Fischer to be transported up here, with a full surfacing team, and I'll call Miles to let Mr. Saito know we've agreed to his terms."_

_Their actions would set more into motion than they initially understood._

_

* * *

Don't let me do this to you,_

_you are not those other people,_

_you are yourself_

_Take off the signatures, the false_

_bodies, this love_

_which does not fit you_

_This is not a house, there are no doors,_

_get you while it is _

_open, while you still can_

_-v, _Hesitations outside the door, Margaret Atwood

**

* * *

Song list (with links if you are on livejournal)**

Arthur and Ariadne talk: Dreamlife – Sleeping At Last

The bar/Sonja meets Ariadne on the patient floor: This Place is a Prison – The Postal Service

Flashback: Planning the inception: Waiting – The Devlins

**Author's notes:**

**I guess I should have said that when things were in past tense, they were things that were _perceived_ to be reality, at least by the main charactes. Terribly sorry for that...**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: As always, _Inception_ is not mine, nor are Margaret Atwood's amazing words.**

**

* * *

**

"**A**re the kids home?" Ariadne asked when Cobb reappeared in the foyer with a towel. He shook his head and looped the towel around her shoulders. Frustration flared in the woman. Parent, mentor, sibling, however he saw her, she didn't have the patience to , per usual, sedately let him do as he pleased, not right then. She stepped back and started to towel-dry her own hair.

"There at Miles'," he answered, while rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Suddenly he was wide awake. "But you should know that."

She gripped the towel tightly around her shoulders. "Sorry," she said, thinking as quickly as she could. "I haven't been home, and I knew that Flor said she'd watch my girls tonight, but I...I must have missed her telling me that your kids were going to be there, too."

Seemingly unaware, he nodded. "Bills. Needed some quiet time, and my father-in-law offered. You said you want to talk?" he asked, changing the subject.

She made an affirmative noise in her throat, and followed him into the family room. She seated herself with a leg tucked under herself so she could face him.

"I need you to listen to what I'm about to say, and I'll let you ask questions when I'm finished, alright? Because if I'm going to do this, I just want to get it all out there, first, as best as I can."

Cobb settled himself, turning to face her, his arm resting on the back of the couch, his head braced against his hand. His proximity was a little unnerving. "I can't promise, but I'll try," he assured her.

Ariadne figured that was the best she could hope for.

* * *

"**S**o you think she's in there, giving him a little catch-up for the last two and a half years he's missed?" Eames incredulously asked Arthur. Sonja and Eames had dragged in two more visitor's chairs, and were both monitoring the unconscious pair. Arthur had given up pacing to lean against the wall, his hands in his pockets. Eames wished he could think of something funny, anything, really, to say to the man; he hated to see him look more morose than he usually did. "Isn't that _exactly_ what we've been avoiding?"

Arthur gave him a helpless look. "We've tried everything else, maybe Ariadne thinks she can coax him out of this. All of her usual tricks didn't work. She tried the mirror breaking and facing regrets...to be honest, I don't know for certain what it is she's doing, but I think the plan may be to try to get Project Minotaur to kick up the defenses, judging from her safe-cracking theory."

Eames groaned and rubbed at his face. "But we've all been in there, darling. He may have his own deranged version of his wife running around like a mad harpy, but there was no sign that his subconscious was _militarized_."

"Because it's not," retorted Arthur. "It's more like his subconscious is secretly armed with nuclear weapons that detonate at the first sign of trouble. Cobb was-" He cut himself off when he realized Sonja was still in the room.

At the lull in conversation, her eyes flickered to his for a brief instant before returning to the monitors. "Tonight, I'm giving up on figuring any of this out; everything you people have been saying has been going _way_ over my head."

Slightly reluctant, Arthur continued. "He volunteered when he first joined the army to test out the prototype training for Project Minotaur. He was halfway through the program when it got scrapped, since other test subjects had ended up exactly where he is now. When we got partnered through the Military-Cobol partnership, he told me all about it, but by that point he was already the best damn Extractor I'd ever seen, and the idea that _he_ would ever be a Subject seemed to be out of the realm of possibilities."

Eames snorted, and leaned back in his chair. He wished that he had grabbed a bottle from the bar before coming down. "We earn money for meddling in dreams; everything we do is impossible."

Sonja started to reach for the PASIV device. "Okay, she's been down there long enough. I'm flipping the kill switch."

Arthur's hand was wrapped around hers in a tight vice-like grip, instantly. "Look."

Her eyes followed his to the line running from the device to where it was now split and understood just how large a mistake she nearly just made.

Arthur let go of her hand when he saw her expression. "She piggybacked her IV off of his. You do that and we lose any chance of getting her out. We will give her a cue and a kick."

* * *

_**A**__riadne walked into Miles' office at the Sorbonne, something she did on an almost daily basis, although this time she was nervous._

"_Do you remember," she plunged directly into the question, "when you and those two other people offered me a job?" _

_The papers he was shuffling fell silent. "I haven't started to present any signs of senility, so yes. Ariadne, it's been a year since then," he paused and then continued with a sigh that spoke volumes, " a very long year. You're hesitation in accepting the position was warranted, I now realize."_

"_But I want to now," she argued, finding herself sitting at the edge of her seat. "I need to."_

"_With your talent for architecture, I have no doubts that you will find other offers of employment."_

_She took the gun out of her handbag, and placed it like a dead thing, like a white flag, or a sacrifice, before her mentor. He stared at it, appropriately._

"_I have used this, just like I have used _everything_ you've taught me, to hurt others, and for a very long time now," she said in a voice that shook, despite her best efforts to stay in control. She could hear the clock ticking. _

"_For the past few years, I have been doing things that I _never_ imagined, and I just found out, thanks to __your associate, that I have been lied to by my former employers...about everything. So now, I'm asking you – no, I'm begging, for the chance to do something good with these skills."_

_His glasses were removed distractedly. "This conversation-"_

"_-Can be finished with that woman, Mal, if you-"_

"_-No, it very well cannot," he said sharply, bringing his hand down onto the desk in a fist. Much to her own dismay, her hand had started to inch towards the gun for a second. Pain masked his fingers. _

"_That woman was my daughter, and she is dead, and has been so for two months."_

"_Miles, I didn't know..." she trailed off, unsure of where to go, what to say._

"_There was no way you could have, my dear. She was injected with the serum, and must not have known it. She died during an attempt to recruit someone for our institute, going under. Do you see, do you understand why I cannot possibly ask you to willingly become a part of this?"_

_Ariadne looked at him, unable to keep the hope or sadness out of her voice. She'd spent years learning she was basically disposable, and it was strange to be considered anything else, by anyone. _

"_I am not your daughter, Miles. I am not your responsibility. All I am asking for is a chance to apply for the Institute, the potential to do something positive."_

**

* * *

C**obb waited for her to finish telling her story (and that's all it really was when she ended up omitting anything to do with Mal), at least up to just over two years ago, and instead of reacting angrily, he ducked his head with a soft laugh and said "Well, that explains why you picked it up so quickly. Liar."

It was more true than he knew.

"Thief," she retorted without any anger behind her words. It drew a light smile from the man, and she wished she had known him, before all of this. They would have been friends. Mal would still be alive, and they would have raised the children together, happily.

Ariadne wanted to stay in this moment of comfortable companionship, but knew it was impossible, and knew she wasn't ready to go through with her plans. She came to the conclusion in that brittle instant that she wasn't ready for what she had planned, and now had to figure a way out of this.

"My turn," Dom declared, his face taking on an unreadable expression. "Admitting you used to unwittingly work for Cobol was not what I thought you wanted to talk about."

Ariadne found herself on the receiving end of his cobalt gaze, and had to blame her shiver on her wet clothes.

His hand skimmed across the cushion to where her's lay. This was certainly not what _she_ had in mind, and with everything else she had racing through her head, she couldn't handle knowing that he felt that way about her, couldn't just block out her feelings like she used to.

Cobb was understandably alarmed when she quickly stood.

It was a dream, and for once, the timing was perfect for her. The old antique radio in the corner of the room kicked on. Above the white noise, she could just make out the drawn-out opening to the cue music.

**

* * *

E**ames had placed the headphones on Ariadne and hit 'play' without looking at the song, knowing she'd be vigilant enough to listen for it. After two hours down there, she should be more than ready to come back up. 'Con Te Partiro' started to play.

****Arthur held his wrist up, bobbing his head as he counted the seconds. Twenty seconds gave her four minutes to catch the kick.

**

* * *

A**riadne excused herself before going to climb the stairs.

Cobb turned off the stereo, muttering about old wiring, and followed her. "Bathroom is right here," he said while pointing at the door next to him.

She paused her climb of the stairs, a hand on the banister. "No, that's fine, I'll just use this one," she replied. It came out ridiculously unconvincing, and in that moment, she didn't care, because she had to make the kick, had to.

She'd spent months trying to get Cobb to wake up, and couldn't. Had gone through every little trick she knew – resorting to the breaking mirror as hinting imagery was low, in her mind – and none of them worked. Had tried to drive the car to the riverfront so he would see the one patch of unfinished space in his dream, but had been cut off by his vigilant subconscious. Had started to grow more than just a little emotionally attached to this man, but could not give up on the two children he had left behind.

His brows knitted together in confusion, Dom opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by alternating blue and red lights bathing the room.

The shock and panic must have been evident on her face and been read as guilt. Cobb started towards, and she took another step upward.

"Ariadne, why are the police-"

"They are _not_ the police, Dom," she said, urgency dragging her voice upwards and causing her senses to take on sharp edges. She grabbed at his arms and tried to make him see reason; this was clearly the beginnings of Project Minotaur starting up, so she might as well try the most direct method available. "This is a dream and we need to wake up."

The car door slammed outside, and through the curtains Ariadne could make out the silhouettes of two officers – a man and a woman – making their way to the front door. Dom's hands grasped her face and forced her to revert her attention. He looked positively _broken_.

"No, no, honey," he said sadly. "Ariadne, this _isn't _a dream. What did you do?" There was something deliberately calm about his voice, the same as when he spoke to Mal in Limbo. She tried to push his hands away.

"This is a dream and...and I'm sorry, Dominic." She'd failed, and she'd think about the implications of that when she was above, back home and with the girls. "I'm sorry, but even if you don't wake up, I have to." She darted a kiss into the corner of his mouth, just a brief instant of contact, before slipping out of his grasp and up the stairs.

"Ariadne, no!" he shouted, lurching forward to grasp at her ankle. She tripped and between that action and his hand clawing at her leg, started to slip back down the stairs. Their frantic wrestling was interrupted by a fist pounding on the door.

"Police!" the male officer barked.

Ariadne, who by then had twisted around to better fight off the Extractor, took the moment of distraction to kick Cobb off of her and down the stairs to the landing. She scrambled back up the two flights of stairs to the attic room she had spied last time she'd visited. Below were the sounds of shouts, more fists on the door and feet on the stairs, pursuing her.

The Architect swung the door to the attic room shut, locking it only seconds before Cobb careened into it. When he slammed on it with an open palm, and then a fist, she felt the vibrations through the door frame.

"Ariadne," he begged. "Don't do this. Don't do this to me." There was the sound of booted feet on the stairs. Her vision was blurry; she realized she was crying.

"Honey, think of the kids," he reasoned, but the command only cemented her resolve further.

"I _am_!" she shouted, and then leaned her face against the door, even as he continued to hit it, and whispered. "I'm sorry."

The force of the blows was now at a higher point, probably from him jamming his shoulder against the obstacle in hopes of breaking it down. Ariadne hurried to the window, and after a few seconds of protest, it finally opened.

She crawled onto the ledge, ignored the sound of the door bursting open, stood, and prepared herself.

* * *

"**..T**wo...one," finished Arthur, and he kicked the leg of Ariadne's chair. All three watched her head tilting forward, her body following the chair in it's backwards arc, her hair starting to fly out, and three people held their breath.

**

* * *

A**riadne pushed off of the ledge, felt time start to slow, felt the jolt caused by the kick, felt her body in the chair, in reality.

**

* * *

H**er eyes started to flutter open, and her hands gripped the chair.

**

* * *

A** pair of hands grabbed her around the waist and tugged her back into the attic.

**

* * *

A**riadne's mouth opened, a small noise coming out, and then her eyes closed and her body went limp.

* * *

"**N**o!" screamed Ariadne as the arms encircled her and yanked her back into the room. The officers only half-succeeded in the attempt, and her ribs landed with full force on the window frame, knocking the breath out of her. Dizzied, disoriented, and panicked from the knowledge she just had missed the kick, she clawed at the window's frame desperately.

One of them wrestled her to the floor and handcuffed her hands behind her back, uncaring that her face was pressed into the carpet in a way that wouldn't let her breathe.

**

* * *

E**ames darted behind the chair to catch her. He turned, wild-eyed to stare at the Point Man.

"What the hell just-"

"Guys," interrupted Sonja, the steel and worry in her voice stopping the Forger from finishing his question. She was crouched in front of the chair, her fingers around Ariadne's wrist. "Get her on the bed, I need to start chest compressions."

"What exactly does-"

"It means she doesn't have a pulse!" shouted Arthur furiously, cutting him off. He grabbed Ariadne's legs while Eames hooked his arms under hers and they lifted her out of the chair, the Brit tripping over the chair in his haste to get her body on the bed.

**

* * *

T**he two men overpowered her, grabbing her under the arms and around the legs after she started to kick at them. They nearly dropped her, carrying her down the stairs.

In the foyer, Dom stood with a detective, their shapes bathed in alternating blue and red lights. The desolate look on his face shouldn't have registered so strongly with her in that moment, but it did. The two officers continued to carry her out of the house and into the back of a squad car, despite her best attempts to free herself.

The detective opened the door to the passenger's seat and gestured for Cobb to climb in. The Extractor looked questioningly at the man.

"You're wanted down at the precinct," said an officer.

"You both are," said the other. Their bizarre behavior seemed to go unnoticed to Cobb. He sadly climbed into the vehicle.

Ariadne scooted on the back seat so she could lean as closely as possible to the metal divider. "Cobb," she begged. "You have to realize that this is all a dream. None of this makes sense! When was the last time one of your kids scraped a knee, or woke up from nightmares? What is the scent of the laundry detergent you use? _How do the kids get to Miles' house_? Please, try to remember how all of this started; it's a _dream."_

He shifted in the passenger seat to look at her, blue eyes hurt and despairing. "You _know_ who you sound like right now," he accused, "and you're killing me." Dom turned around in his seat and stared ahead.

Ariadne slumped backwards, found that it was difficult to breathe in the position, but didn't care. Her fingers sought the beads on her wrist, and she watched the streets of the world Dom had built as they passed by.

"No," she whispered, and tried to hold back the tears, failure sinking her spirits as they approached the precinct. "You're killing _me."_

* * *

"**G**rab me an IV line," demanded Arthur of Eames, just as Yusef and Nancy came clamoring into the room.

Eames shouted "Don't you bloody dare!" at the same time Nancy asked "What the hell is going on?" Arthur ignored both of them and started to reach for the line himself, only to be blocked by Eames, who backed him up until they crashed against the wall.

"I can't lose them both," Arthur tried to hastily explain.

"I can't lose _you_," retorted Eames, hoarsely.

"If you really want to help," said a breathless Sonja all the while continuing chest compressions, "go call Mr. Miles."

In the haste to move Ariadne's body to the bed, to allow Sonja to start chest compressions while Arthur called a code, no one noticed that the jostling had sent her arm over the side of the bed, dislodging the beaded bracelets on her wrist, sending them rolling down her arm where they landed in a new spot with a faint 'click'. The beads spelled out the names on the sterling silver photo frame next to Cobb's bed: Phillipa and Caroline.

_**

* * *

A**riadne looked up from her paperwork to find her boyfriend standing before her in the work room. Arthur, with his all-access badge, could drop by any time he liked, whereas Ariadne wouldn't make it two feet inside the Perls Building without security trying to take her down._

_Dating Arthur had been a big step in gaining some normalcy in her life, because God knew she'd never really had any of that. And being able to talk to someone about her jobs, someone who would challenge her to make a level just a little harder or seem more realistic, was enjoyable. Plus, he was a link to the girls' father, and from all of the stories he had told her, she felt like she knew him._

_Wherever he was._

"_Come with us," he said, all good-humor and slight-smile. Ariadne could see that there were other men in the hallway, waiting. One of them was Miles. She rose from the desk chair and followed._

_There was a sudden flurry of activity as soon as she stepped into the hall. Miles gave her a strained smile, but seemed to ignore her questioning look. Arthur's old associate Eames looped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek with a loud smack of lips. A dark-complected, cheerful looking man she'd never met before congratulated her with a polite handshake. _

"_Thank you, although I'm not quite sure what it is that you think I've done," she said, slowly, even as she looked to her mentor for an answer. _

"_You're being promoted," revealed Arthur, "to the Perls Building, and you've been assigned to our team. We need a new Extractor and Architect, so Miles and the Board decided to forgo the application process and rotation schedule. Congratulations."_

_Eames gave her another hug, but this time she had steeled herself for it; physical affection was something she'd never gotten the hang of, aside from the children, and the occasional sign of it with Arthur (although their relationship's glacial speed was just fine with her). A passing Lab Rat frowned. She couldn't help, after he let her go, turning to Arthur and Miles with confusion._

"_Are you sure? I've only been here a year and a half, and I never even considered applying, not yet at least."_

"_Mal wanted this," said Miles, simply, and it was enough of an answer, but Arthur spoke. He barely mentioned his daughter, or her missing husband._

"_I think you'll find the answer when you come with us."_

_Walking across the campus to the Perls Building, for the first time, was a surreal but memorable experience. As the group crossed the landscaped grounds, she felt a small bubble of pride, in her gut, start to expand. If this wasn't a sign of how far she'd come, she wasn't sure what was._

_The lobby was surprisingly modern, and dominated by a large pair of elevators. The security guard, as well as everyone they passed, greeted Miles respectfully. The rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, where they disembarked onto what appeared to be a nursing unit. At the nursing station, telemetry screens were paired with some sort of brain imaging. The charge nurse greeted them as they walked by._

_They stepped into the corner room, and when Ariadne saw who was lying in the bed, her suede pumps scuffed to a stop on the linoleum. The man was on she recognized very well, from the many photos in the house. With Phillipa, with a pregnant Mal, by himself at the groundbreaking for the Institute. _

"_But that's-"_

"_A John Doe, yes," Arthur cut her off quickly, guiding her in her shocked state to a visitor's chair beside the bed. He leaned in and whispered. "Cobol is looking for him, we couldn't risk it even here."_

_In a normal voice, he continued. "We think you're perfect for surfacing him. He's looping a false memory of being implicated in his wife's death. He's always working the same job, that one last job, and we haven't been able to find a way to successfully get him to progress his time line and stabilize. With everything that you know about him, we thought you'd be as good as he was."_

"_Even better," amended Miles, speaking for the first time. Despite the compliment, he did not look happy._

_Eames, stuffing his hands into his pockets, gave a jerk of the head towards Cobb's unconscious body. "We think an inception is in order, and Arthur thinks you'd be up for it, judging from-"_

"_You've been testing me," she interrupted in a faint voice, her disbelieving, hardening eyes on Arthur. "All those little challenges were manipulative, a way to see if I was ready. All the stories about him were to ensure I'd be receptive to the offer." Ariadne felt anger flare in her gut. She looked past an uncomfortable Yusef to her mentor. "I guess having me made a guardian for the girls was some sort of way of roping me in as well?" _

_The older British man shook his head furiously. "No, no, Ariadne. Never. Florence and I saw how you cared for the girls. We're not getting any younger, and we needed to ensure their safety should something happen to us."_

_Ariadne believed him, but the fact that this had all been happening without her knowledge...it was too much like Cobol, like her mother. _

"_I trusted you," she whispered harshly to Arthur, feeling her heart in her throat._

_There was something like unhappy acceptance in his eyes, like he knew he'd just broken something to gain something else. "Whatever it takes to get my partner back," he said, although she wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself. _

_She stood suddenly and pushed past Arthur._

"_I'll have to think about this. I'm going home."_

_They let her leave, and she distracted herself for the rest of the day in caring for the girls. There __was a ballet class to take Phillipa to, and __baths to give, and dinners to make and then cajole children into eating. There was a bedtime story to read to a fussing Caroline. There was pleading with the older girl to wear an outfit that half-matched. These were things that were hers only by chance, by a turn of events she'd never had control over._

_Because at some point, a college professor had decided she was worthy of respect and trust, and that she was not just the tool her mother had tried to make her into. And so her universe grew an axis that consisted of two little dark-haired girls that were not hers, but had made her theirs. _

_Ariadne had been sitting at the kitchen table listening to their steady breathing on the baby monitor when the garage door opened. Through the stained glass of the front door, she could tell, from the second set of headlights, that Arthur had probably followed Miles and Florence home. _

_Then she heard yelling in French, and she rushed outside to see what was going on, barefoot and pajama-clad, with only a sweatshirt to guard against the night's chill. _

_Florence rounded on Ariadne the second the young woman walked out to the open garage._

"Chère, ma fille, dis-moi_-"_

"_She has a right to choose, Flor," Stephen Miles sternly interrupted, but the French woman shoved at her partner and grabbed Ariadne's hand. _

"_Did they tell you, the last one, the last Architect, he's damaged?"_

"_He's in a coma," explained Miles. Ariadne looked past the older couple to Arthur, who dipped his head, and in that moment, the anger that had been starting to die down was stoked._

_She'd regret this, she knew it, but in the blinding spotlights of the car, she made her decision._

"_Flor, I might have a little more training than the last person. And I have reasons to come back, a grip on reality. I'm going to do this, for the girls."_

_The older woman recoiled, dropping Ariadne's hand, her expression haunted. "Mon dieu, I will lose you all, won't I?" she whispered to herself. "I already lost Mal, but now you? Sometimes I hate I love you," she spat at Miles and stormed into the house._

_The three remaining people shifted uneasily for a moment before Ariadne broke the awkward silence, addressing Miles. "The girls are already asleep, so please don't wake them." It was a horrible way of hinting that he ought to go inside, but it was the only thing she could think of saying at the moment. Miles nodded and walked past her._

_Arthur still stood, ram-road straight, next to his car. "We really need to talk," he said, but she shook her head in response._

"_Not really. I think we're finished here, Arthur." She knew he would understand what she was referring to. This was all so cold and sterile and everything she had worked so _hard_ to avoid. Almost a year of caring about someone, loving him...maybe, in some twisted way, her mother had been trying to keep her from this. _

_She couldn't tell for sure because of the headlights, but she swore she thought she saw Arthur clench his jaw – not out of anger but emotion. "See you in the morning," he answered, thickly. _

**

* * *

I**t was late at night, and the residents of the Miles house were asleep. The phone rang, and Stephen blearily woke, reaching for it, blindly. Florence flicked the bedside light on to assist him. He answered, he listened, and then he sat up with the movement of a man who was too tired, too weary for what was taking place. He spoke a few words to his lover, and he held her tightly when she started to sob.

_

* * *

If we make stories for each other_

_about what is in the room_

_we will never have to go in._

_You say: my other wives_

_are in there, they are all _

_beautiful and happy, they love me, why_

_disturb them_

_I say: it is only_

_a cupboard, my collection_

_of envelopes, my painted_

_eggs, my rings_

_In your pockets the thin women_

_hang on their hooks, dismembered_

_Around my neck I wear_

_the head of the beloved, pressed_

_in the metal retina like a picked flower._

-vi, Hesitations outside the door, Margaret Atwood

**

* * *

Song list (with links if you're on livejournal)**:

Cobb and Ariadne talk: Johnette Napolitano – Suicide Note

The cue: Andrea Bocelli - Con Te Partiro

The kick/the jump: Florence and the Machine – Heavy in Your Arms

Flashback to Ariadne's promotion: The Devlins – Vertical


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Do not have any claim to _Inception_, or Margaret Atwood's work. Just playing with them.**

**A.N. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. Your comments help me know if I am on the right track with this...no pun intended.**

* * *

_Should we go into it_

_together/ If I go into it_

_with you I will never come out_

_If I wait outside I can salvage_

_this house or what is left_

_of it, I can keep_

_my candles, my dead uncles_

_my restrictions_

_but you will go_

_alone, either_

_way is loss_

_Tell me what is for_

_In the room we will find nothing_

_In the room we will find each other_

_-vii, _Hesitations outside the door, Margaret Atwood

-The Carrick bend is also known as the Wake knot in heraldic images.

-'Carrick' is the Anglicized version of the Gaelic word for 'rock'.

**

* * *

A**t the precinct they allowed Ariadne to walk, still handcuffed, with Dom beside her, a gentle hand at her back. He was being purposely careful with her, and ignored any attempt she made to convince him that it was a dream and he was in a coma, refusing to even _look_ at her. The officers and the detective followed closely behind them until they reached the end of the hall, where there was a large observation window, and a metal door beside it.

Ariadne's stomach churned when she saw that the white paint on the door did not entirely cover all the marks and spots of rust around its edges.

Her stomach dropped into some bottomless void when she realized it wasn't all rust, and that some of the damage around the door was caused by scratch marks left by fingernails. They were dark, coppery red for another reason.

The detective slipped past them to open the door, which groaned and opened widely to accommodate the people who stood before it. Inside was a metal table, and matching, heavy chairs. Sitting on the table was a PASIV device. Sighting it, Ariadne started to try to twist out of Cobb's guiding hold.

"I won't go in there!" she swore, and pushed back as best she could, despite her arms being handcuffed behind her. Cobb tried to ease her through the doorway after the officer gave him a quick jerk of the head to do so. "I want to talk to Mr. Charles". She knew, from Arthur's reaction to the man's name during the inception, that it was the name Cobb had picked for his projection. She hoped that it would work.

Cobb tried to soothe her. "Sweetheart, they just want to ask you a few questions, okay? It's nothing – wait a second, why the hell are you sedating her?" he demanded to know, incensed as a new officer came out of nowhere and jammed a needle into Ariadne's forearm. She knew she had a few more seconds before whatever it was could begin to work, so-

But she didn't. It was Cobb's dream, and since he had no real understanding of how sedatives worked, she instantly felt her own muscles go limp. The sandy-haired man easily supported her collapsing, smaller frame, now clutching her protectively.

"Mr. Charles would like to see you, too, Mr. Cobb." The detective and one of the officers grabbed him by the arms, while another officer wrenched Ariadne out of his hold. Another needle was produced, and jammed into his neck. He gave a strangled cry.

Ariadne could feel this slightest amount of control slip, and she's being dragged to the chair in the corner, her handcuffs removed, and Cobb is being bodily dragged over to the other chair. Whatever doubts he had are gone, lost behind the confusion he had over the situation while they straighten the pair's arms out, insert the needles with only a dull sense of pain.

Her head lolls to the side, and she could tell from the panicked look in his cobalt eyes, he understood now, at least a little. Her free arms flops over the side, tries to touch his. He struggles to reach his hand out, to touch hers, looking for forgiveness for what is about to happen. Ariadne tries to calm him, for more than just the reason that he needs to be stable enough for the dream within a dream that is about to take place.

Their fingers barely graze before they are tugged under.

**

* * *

W**hen she comes to, she's being dragged down a hallway, barely able to keep her footing under her as two men in black jumpsuits pull her along. Her mind frantically races through events that she can remember, panics when she can't and her arm is sore, as if she's been given a shot. It's like her mind is having spasms. Time didn't seem to be paced right – it's too fast at times – but it could be because of whatever they had given her. Her worst fears are confirmed when, with all the strength she can muster, she jerks a captured wrist a little closer to her own unfocused gaze and there are the bracelets peaking out under the cuff of her ragged shirt.

It was reality.

Ariadne tried to fight against the guards viciously, but they were too much taller than her and their strength is too much to overpower. Panic made her lungs hurt.

The room they dragged her to was cement, and cold. They easily tied her down to it, hands slipping over the decorated wrist, uncaring of what was there. Her mouth felt dry and there's the slightest taste of blood.

So they had drugged her and tortured her. She becomes compliant when she realizes that the cuts and bruises on her body only hurt in a vague manner. It's a dream, then. A horrific one, but a dream.

Dom is dragged in, the scraping of his feet echoing off of the cement walls. When he sees her tied to the chair, he struggles.

"Ariadne," he says in a tone that trembles and breaks her heart a little more. His wild blue eyes are anguished. Despite his best attempts to leave all of this, he keeps finding himself back here.

"Dom, it's fine," she whispers, because her voice is cracking. Her throat is throbbing, and she realizes that in reality, someone is forcing something down it. It's the feel of the oropharyngeal airway being inserted. Not good if she's not breathing up there. "This is a dream, okay? We just have to bide our time until the compound wears out."

"We know you're Cobol," says a calm voice from the doorway. There's a man in an immaculate blue suit in the doorway to the room. His sandy-blonde hair is slicked back, so smooth it could be the tip of a bullet. His face is clean shaven, and at the most he could be in his mid-twenties. There's a coldness to his blue eyes that makes her stomach spasm. "We know you have training," the second Cobb continues.

Dom stares, first at his younger doppelganger and then his features contract into a pained one. "Stop," he says in a tone that is a breath away from defeat. He knows this is his subconscious, and how strong it is.

"Mr. Charles," Ariadne says in an even voice, acknowledging the younger man. "I've already gone over this with Dominic and he's aware of my background. Anything he is curious to find out, he understands I will explain for him."

Mr. Charles walks smoothly over to her, stopping in front of a metal grate on the floor that had not been there a second before. It's his way of explaining that he doesn't care if this get's messy. Cement is easy to clean up with a little water and Coca Cola. He leans down and cups her face in a move that parodies intimacy.

"He might accept that, but we don't," he whispers into her ear. Behind him, Dom yells. "You haven't told us everything, and we know it."

Ariadne pulls her head back as far as she can. Her stony brown eyes meet his cobalt ones. "You know that torture isn't going to work on me. And you won't torture yourself. You _cannot_ get the information you want out of me."

The smile she receives is shark-like. "I beg to differ." When he stands back up and takes a step to the side, there's a new doorway behind him. It's a rich, mahogany wood, with intricate stained glass. There are two hundred and seventy five pieces of glass in that door. She knows because it's the door to her house.

She cannot stop herself. As Mr. Charles strides over to the doorway, she screams, and screams, and _screams_.

_**

* * *

S**he turns around slowly when she hears the sound of a gun's safety clicking. Outside, her point man continues to try to hold off the subconscious in the form of an old Western sheriff in a shoot out. The Architect-Extractor has a leather satchel in her grasp, but she brings her hands over her head as she turns around to face whoever has sneaked in behind her. For an instant she allows shock to show on her face when she sees the woman who is holding her at gunpoint with a shiny, chrome Beretta, but then quickly masks the reaction with feigned annoyance. _

"_Isn't that a little anachronistic?" she drawls. _

_Women, _real_ women, not projections or forges, are few and far between in the field, and when Ariadne comes across one, it means facing someone as hellbent as herself on proving she deserves to be there. It means this can get messy._

_Mal, that's her name, she remembers from when Miles and that other man tried to offer her the job. Mal tilts her head a little to the side as the only real sign of acknowledgment. She's wearing a violet traveling dress, and has done a better job at getting the details down. This annoys Ariadne, almost as much as her ability to sneak up on her as she is memorizing the chemical formula that had been inside the bank vault._

"_So you're an Extractor?" the younger woman asks, conversationally. She is trying to stall before the Point Man enters the bank and they make their kick. Their subject is a spaghetti Western-obsessed scientist for Proclus, but beyond that, the Agency told them very little. _

You don't ask questions, you don't ask for personal details beyond the job. A mark is a mark, and nothing more. You do a job, you get out, no hesitations. Every day without progress is really twelve days wasted. _ The Agency has countless adages, and she can recite all of them by heart._

_Mal laughs at her question. "I'm not an Extractor. I was a Forger, at one point...until I moved on to something bigger and better. Something a little more challenging. Perhaps you are interested?"_

_It's Ariadne's turn to laugh. "Because Cobol Engineering would be the place for that."_

_Mal shakes her head and clucks her tongue. "Oh, _ma chère_, there is so much you do not know," she sighs, sadly. _

_Outside, the clock-tower chimes, thirty minutes before it is supposed to. _

"_But when you are tired of getting your hands dirty for Cobol's cover group, when you want to _really_ apply your talent, come find us." And before the shorter woman can grab for her revolver, the French woman is gone._

_The extraction goes perfectly, the only sign of an intruder was the disposed IV parts in the bottom of the garbage can. Ariadne continued to work for the Agency for several months before she suspected that Mal was telling the truth; the formula she had stolen turned out to be for a new strain of anthrax, a strain that the CEO of a neurological imaging company was exposed and quickly succumbed to, and whose company that Cobol greedily and quickly bought thereafter. _

_She performed a one-man on her handler that same week. Under the guise of experimenting with a new drug, she builds his house and handcuffs him to the rungs of his staircase, quickly going to the basement. She finds videotapes and audiotapes, memories of meetings and phone conversations, respectively, with her mother. In the safe that is far to easy to crack, she finds documents linking the Agency back to Cobol, all in blue jackets. _

_She went to talk to Miles in his office the next day. _

_In between Mal's visit with Ariadne and the young woman's trip to Miles' office, Mal continued to try to actively recruit for the Institute, had been doing so as soon as she had given birth to Caroline and been medically cleared for exposure to Somnacin and related compounds. She wanted the best, and the brightest, to get her husband out of his coma. She thought nothing of the jabbing sensation that she felt when she was on a crowded Parisian metro. _

_She thought nothing of the peculiar feeling, the next time she started to go under, the tightness in her chest or the feel of her heart racing. _

_And then, she thought nothing at all._

* * *

"**S**top, just stop!" she shouts. "I will tell you everything, just...just don't go in there."

For a instant, she thinks Mr. Charles has agreed to this; he turns to face her, face cool and collected. Never breaking their shared gaze, he reaches back with a sharp jab of his gun, and breaks the stained glass.

"Gentleman," he prompts, and out of nowhere comes more men in black jumpsuits, dressed like military. They open the door and start to pile into the Miles house.

The _dream_ of the Miles house, at least.

"Any nasty little surprises waiting for us, Miss Maurer?" asks Mr. Charles, in a tone that would be more appropriate for a business lunch. She grinds her teeth.

"No. Unlike _some_ subconscious projections, mine can control itself." In truth, hers didn't even have a form. She'd kept it that way, on purpose to avoid situations like this. When she was younger (and her mother had spoken to her in that manipulative voice), it had taken its shape as a three-headed dog.

He only smiles pleasantly at her reply, and after a guard inside yells "Clear!", he gestures at the remaining guards. They untie Ariadne and drag Cobb along, pushing them into the house.

"I'll save you time," says Ariadne. "There's a safe under my bed and a box at the top of the closet I can't reach."

The house is still, eerily quiet. This dreamed version varies from Cobb's memory of it. There's toys littering the floors. The photos along the side table feature Ariadne's girls, a few with Arthur.

Charles stands guard while the others go upstairs, leaving the two Dreamers behind. Ariadne crosses the room to lean against the side table. Cobb settles onto his father-in-law's couch, mind racing for some way out of this.

"Oh you can try," says Mr. Charles, "but I know what you know. Actually, I know _more_ than you know."

Ariadne is watching him carefully, hopefully. "Do you believe me now, Dom?"

He hangs his head. "I'm starting to. Maybe. There are things that just don't make sense." His head rises, and brown eyes are fixed with haunted blue ones. "I need to know, Ariadne: is Mal alive, up there?"

There is something so heavy in the question it threatens to drown them both. He is both relieved and dismayed when the woman shakes her head, then gently explains "No, she passed away, Dom. Someone gave her the serum, and she tried to go under. Her death was never tied to you in any way... I'm sorry, so sorry for your loss."

He stares at the carpet, processing this. In his mind he keeps seeing that scene in the hotel room, walking in, the glass breaking under his feet. Mal on the ledge opposite the room. "But it's so vivid, it was so real," he breathes.

Ariadne bites her lip for a second before speaking. "It's vivid because the Cobol agent based the false memory he implanted off of reality. Try to remember the hotel room, but don't let your mind stray to the window. Remember the bed, and the glass. Why was it wrecked like that?"

"Because I was fighting with Malone...oh, Jesus," he says abruptly, because suddenly it's all crisp and clear, and he can see the false memory overlapping the memory of how _he fought with Malone, who tried to drug him. The glass was thrown to the floor and they were too evenly matched; the room suffered almost as much as they did. And then there was the feel of the needle, and Malone is in his dream, warning him about the police coming for him, handing him the plane tickets..._

"That-that bastard," fumes Dom, standing, turning on Mr. Charles. "If you're supposed to protect me, why keep me down here? Why help Malone?"

Mr. Charles does not react to being shouted at. "We did this to protect you, Mr. Cobb. Your mind holds information that is highly valuable, and we cannot allow an outside threat obtain that information. We will, as we always have, follow the appropriate Cobol protocol."

_Search, contain, identify, destroy. _Ariadne stares at him, horror ensnaring her. "I will tell him everything," she says, numbly. Project Minotaur is clearly corrupted, if it sees Cobol as the enemy and the rule book all at once. Winston never had a chance against this.

Mr. Charles looks pleased at her sudden compliance.

"I've explained about me, and Mal...and that you're in a coma. Do you remember the Fischer job?" she rushes to ask. When Dom gives an acknowledging grunt, eyes never leaving Mr. Charles, she continues. "It was...it was our attempt at surfacing both you and Fischer. It was an inception as well, per Saito's request, but if you had stabilized, and then realized this was all a dream, we would have crashed the plane to wake us all up.

"When that clearly wasn't the case, we let you be and surfaced Fischer ourselves. We've been hoping that, during all of these cases you've worked on, you'd start to doubt your reality. And I just couldn't take it anymore, so I decided to confront you."

Her fingers claw into the wood of the side table. "Are you happy, now?" she asks Mr. Charles, caustically. "That's everything."

"Not everything," he argues.

"Everything he needs to know," she urgently replies, then says to Dom "I'm sorry, I'm only leaving two things out because I'm afraid that you will use them against me in here, and if you did..." Her voice catches in her throat, and she can't even think about it.

Dom crosses the room to her side, looks down at her with understanding. _"I'm_ sorry," he whispers, hoarsely, face betraying how helpless he feels. "If I could stop my subconscious-"

"But you can't," Mr. Charles interrupts, smoothly stalking towards Ariadne, shouldering Dom to the side in a way that is almost polite. He reaches a shockingly gentle hand around her waste, and Ariadne can feel herself tremble with fear over what this projection can potentially do to her.

"I told him all of it, all that I can. Please don't...please. _Please_."

He leans in, ignorant of Cobb's protests. "You did, you told us all the little secrets we already knew, and we thank you for that honesty, even if it took us some time to get it out of you," he appreciatively appraises. Ariadne slumps with relief, a moment too soon.

"But we know you have got to be here for the same reasons as Winston, and so..." He brings his arm back around, brandishing the silver sterling photo frame. "Hiding your biggest secret in the last place we'd look? Miss Maurer, we are _not_ Cobol..but we follow the same rules."

_Search, contain, identify, _destroy_. _

There is a child's shriek upstairs, and Ariadne gapes in horror. It's followed by two gunshots.

Before Cobb can even think, Ariadne has leapt at Mr. Charles, a viscous, desperate growl erupting from the back of her throat. The move sends the photograph tumbling out of the projection's hands, skittering towards Cobb. The wrestling pair crash onto the floor.

"You son of a bitch!" she screams and tries to punch Mr. Charles in the face, but the man twists them and suddenly she is under him, and his hands are around her throat. Cobb's attempt to help her is met with a powerful blow from Mr. Charles, and Cobb falls next to the photo frame. He's disoriented but the name 'Phillipa' catches his eye.

At the same moment, the guards come down the stairs, carrying two duffel bags. They are heavily dumped on the floor of the living room, and as soon as they are, Mr. Charles easily rises from Ariadne's gasping, coughing form.

"Miss Maurer," he chimes. "Could you tell me what are in those bags?"

She's struggling to sit up, panting, all the while trying to crawl away from the bags. "Please, stop," she begs in a cracking voice. "I don't know what more you want me to tell him."

Cobb has drawn the photograph closer, but still cannot process what is written there. 'Phillipa and Caroline'. The older girl's hair is a dark blond-brown, and she's older than he remembers, but he'd recognize his little girl anywhere. The smaller child has Mal's delicate face in miniature. He's dizzy with perception.

Everything has fallen into place, clicked in his mind. He understands why Ariadne is screaming beside him, begging him not to look in the bag even as she is dragged to it by a guard. Another holds Cobb back when he starts to fight.

Mr. Charles wraps a harsh hand around hers, forcing her to unzip the smaller one, even as she yells and cursed and fought against him. A child's body was revealed, dark, wispy bangs stirring in the breeze caused by their exposure to the room. Ariadne let out a choked sob and wrapped her arms around the child, her whole body shuddering.

The guards bodily lifted the protesting Cobb, who could not tear his eyes from the woman and child.

"We'll just be leaving, now, Miss Maurer. So sorry for your loss," intoned Mr. Charles, walking to the broken door with a hint of a swagger. With his back towards her, he did not see her slowly stand.

"This is a dream," she says, and brandishes her arm and the bracelet there. "And it's clearly my dream, so I say that Cobb and I are both going to wake up now, and there's nothing you can do about it. He _knows_ now. You can't stop him. You can't stop us."

Glass breaks, and the house starts to fall apart around them, dissolving into nothing.

**

* * *

Ariadne, in the myth, helped Theseus to return from the maze with a ball of thread. **

**This is not the case. Dom is both the man and the maze and she cannot seem to find thread that is long enough, strong enough, or visible in the dark he surrounds himself in.**

**Ariadne, in the myth, gave that same traitorous man a sword to kill her half-brother.**

**This is true, she figures, seeing as Project Minotaur is partially her mother's creation, and Dom's subconscious is torturing her. **

**The space between her dream and Dom's is a black void, and it's filled with these thoughts.**

**She wonders if this place will be her Naxos. **

**They've been knotted together by some thread, intricate and curling around itself, since the very beginning. Since her mother took her to the lab and Dominic Cobb, too young for the army but too bright to be caught, tested into the Cobol program, and quickly volunteered for Project Minotaur, since he watched a little girl get carted away by the DoD police, but was not discouraged.**

**She will not give up. She will not play the part. She will not be a pawn. Not when she knows it's only eight spaces to promotion and a possible crown. **

**She knows he's not the king, not when kings are really quite useless. Maybe he's his own castle. **

**She's not about to let them both be sacrificed for a useless king.**

**There is nothing to push off of, to surface from a dream within a dream that has gained understanding of its own state, but she reaches into herself and _pushes_**

**

* * *

a**nd she finds herself clutching at the arms of the metal chair. She can tell, even in the first few seconds, that he understands now, believes what she's told him. When she looks to him, she finds he is only just waking.

His blue suit catches her attention, against the impossible white of the room. Mr. Charles stands before them looking angered, and smug all at the same time.

"Miss Maurer," he greets, and she doesn't let him get another word out. She kicks him in the gut, using her grip on the chair as leverage, making sure to get the heel of her boot sunk in as best it can. When he takes a faltering step backwards, he can't even right himself, because Dom is up and has swung the chair at his face, and Mr. Charles' head hits the observation glass with a sickening _smack._

There's a silence for a second, as they both take in what has just happened.

"The door," she warns, and instantly, it's gone. Faintly through the cinder block, they can hear the officers trying gain entrance through a suddenly nonexistent door.

Mr. Charles struggles to sit up, but Cobb gives him a ferocious kick in the side. "Fucking bastard," he rants. He kicks the projection again, and another time, and Ariadne puts a hand on his arm, trying to draw him away. If she's not breathing up there, and a code is probably being called, she needs to surface.

"Okay, alright, Dom," she admonishes. "I need you to focus, before you destabilize. We need a way out of here."

They crawl into the air ducts, dropping into some back storage area. There's videotapes and audiotapes stacked with files. She sees blue folders, but Dom grasps her hand tightly, and they duck out. There are shouts and pounding feet, and they know the whole precinct is looking for them. Before the door to the storage area closes, Ariadne hears someone else in the air ducts, and she squeezes Cobb's hand, urging them on.

It's a mad dash for the stairs before they're seen, and Ariadne finds breathing, something she normally never has to worry about in dreams, becoming more difficult. By the time they reach the roof's entrance, Cobb is all but carrying her.

They stumble out into the sunlight, and out on the roof, they are surrounded by the downtown area of Cobb's dream.

"I see it now," he states, seeing, truly seeing, the area by the waterfront, which is hazy and undefined. The rest of the small city is too neat and organized. The sunlight is there, but there is no actual sun. "It hasn't snowed, or really rained much. It's been perfect...almost. For as long as I can remember."

There is the sound of someone starting to open the door to the roof, and Cobb pulls a gun from his waistband, really from nowhere. He aims expertly at the doorway.

"If something happens, do you think you can get yourself to wake up?" he asks, eyes not leaving the doorway.

Her breath is coming in forced gasps, like someone is pushing the air into her.

"Maybe," she manages to say. "But you-"

"Tell my kids I love them," he asks, as the door opens, and before she can say anything, a bloodied hand grasps at the doorway.

It's Mr. Charles, with guards and officers behind him. The projection is no longer as prim and polished, as deadly as he was before. He's holding onto whatever tenuous hold he still has, and desperately.

He doesn't get to take a full step forward before Cobb shoots him in between the eyes, neatly.

The officers and guards try to support the falling man; a few try to get past him to get to Dom and Ariadne. They backup until they are almost to the edge of the roof.

The young woman puts a hand on Dom's shoulder, not wanting to stop him from picking off the guards who are advancing. She needs the support anyway. "Do you remember the process? Remember what we tell the patients?"

He's bobs his head, takes another shot. Dom takes a deep breath. The ceiling starts to crack, and it breaks and juts in such a way that prevents the projections from getting to them any time soon.

When he turns to her, his streaked hair blowing wildly, his blue eyes sad and calm, she fears he's giving up. But then he closes his eyes.

Ariadne can only watch as a man destroys his own world, and it all goes black before she sat up coughing, gagging, and could faintly make out Sonja's voice repeating something. A plastic purple bubble was passed over her head.

"Relax, relax," the nurse demanded, pushing her back into the bed. "I can't get the tube out until you relax for me, Ar."

She tried to allow her friend to do this. Ariadne slowly became aware of just how busy the room was. It appeared that the whole staff was in there. Her chest hurt, and her throat continued to twinge, fighting the desire to gag for a few seconds after the tube was successfully removed.

Sonja, looming above her, looked exhausted. The woman leaned against the bed to rub a soothing hand on Ariadne's arm. "You did good, honey. You're fine."

She couldn't lift her head to look, but she let it drop to the side to be able to witness the flurry of activity going on beside her.

Cobb was awake, fighting against the doctor and nurses, wires flailing like ribbons with the movements of his arms.

Cobb was awake.

Despite the screaming, and the beeping machines, and the pain, Ariadne slowly closed her eyes.

**

* * *

Song list (with links if you are on livejournal)**

At the precinct: Faithless – Last This Day

The dream within the dream: Yann Tiersen & Shannon Wright – No Mercy for She

Running from the projections: Phantogram – Let Me Go

Watching a man destroy his world/ Waking: Hans Zimmer – Time


	8. Chapter 7

As always, thank you for the reviews!

* * *

**S**he woke a short while later, finding the room strangely quiet – save for the sound of the monitors tracking two heart rates – and empty. The light above Cobb's bed was on; she winced but turned her head towards it.

Cobb was awake, staring at the picture frame he now had in his trembling grasp. Spread on the bed were all of the pictures the girls had ever drawn and left for him. The big birthday card the girls had made him at the end of the month before was on his lap, and his hand was over the words 'love' and 'Phillipa' and 'Caroline'. Dom looked decidedly overwhelmed, lost in the evidence of a life that was his but had gone on without him.

The light above betrayed the tears that slipped down his face.

She closed her eyes once more, happy for sleep to claim her so quickly.

**

* * *

T**here was someone standing over her. Ariadne woke so suddenly, hands up defensively, that it caused the person to jump.

"Honey, woah, _calm down_," Sonja demanded. When the woman in the bed complied, she relaxed as well. "I was just checking on you."

Ariadne opened her mouth to ask her what she was still doing there, but her throat was painfully dry. It hurt like hell but it was a small reassurance that she was in reality. Sonja handed her a cup of water, and she gulped it down greedily. Finally, the Architect was able to rasp out her question.

The nurse sighed. "Well, after my boss reamed me out, and she apologized after Mr. Miles demanded she do so, I volunteered to keep an eye out on the both of you."

"Thank you," Ariadne said, genuinely. "You saved my life."

Sonja jerked a thumb in the direction of the dozing man in the bed beside hers. "You were a little preoccupied doing the same for him, so...that lasted fifteen minutes, Ariadne. And five before that. What happened down there in four hours?"

The woman in the bed ran a hand through her hair as she sat up. The action caused the bracelet beads to click together. "A lot," she answered with a shaky laugh. "How furious is Miles?"

"I don't know him as well as you do, but I think he's still a little worried about you two and hasn't passed out of that shocked stage."

Ariadne swung her legs over the side of the bed, and Sonja eyed her, wearily. "You're trying to leave," she said, incredulous. Despite the fact that it was obvious she disproved of the action, she helped Ariadne to stand.

"Trying? I'm _leaving_...if Miles agrees to it."

"Ar, the medical staff put in orders for a slew of tests in the A.M., are you really sure-"

"Yes," she answered, cutting her off quickly. Desperate want made her throat more tight than it already was as she elaborated "I just want to go home."

She agreed to stay long enough for blood to be drawn, an MRI and a CAT scan. Miles guided her to the car and didn't say anything for the duration of the car ride. The neighborhood was sleepy and still, and the pair crept into the house as quietly as possible.

"Goodnight, Ariadne," whispered Stephen as he started to climb the stairs, she repeated the phrase back, but only in an absentminded manner.

After twenty minutes of sleeplessness, Ariadne threw her sheets off and crept up the stairs as silently as possible.

The girls were sleeping soundly in their matching poster beds, a room of pastels and toys that secured them in their innocent world. The young woman leaned her cheek against the door frame and tried to convince herself that what she saw before her, that was real. The small scruff of dark hair that stood up between pillows and sheets, like a feather: that was Caroline. The small hand draped over the edge of the other bed: Phillipa always seemed to do that. This was real. This was her world. She had fought and struggled to come back to this.

"Sweet'art," said a gentle voice behind her.

Florence was standing behind her in the hallway, looking concerned. The older woman's eyes traveled down to Ariadne's hand, and to the fingers that were white-knuckled and gripping the door frame with all of their diminishing strength. It was only when Florence started to guide her away from the door that she realized she was shaking, limbs and stomach muscles trembling beyond her control. Exhaustion was setting in; the adrenaline had finally worn off, slowed down by the Somnacin in her system.

"Okay, okay," Florence cooed, taking her by the hand and leading her and her weak legs back down the stairs and to the living room sofa.

Ariadne was not capable of speech at that moment, not out loud. Inside her head were thoughts that were racing around, colliding into one another, decimating themselves.

Florence gave a heavy sigh, with the sort of weight that only a mother knew, and wrapped her arms around Ariadne.

"_Mon __homme_, he told me. Let it out, ma chère."

It was as if the older woman's embrace was the last amount of weight that the dam Ariadne had built could hold. She took a long, shuddering breath and commenced sobbing, her shoulders shaking, her breathing dictated by the spasmodic jerks of her diaphragm.

She cried because she was relieved it was all over. She cried because for an instant, she'd lost grip of reality down there. She cried because the image of those body bags would have haunted her dreams, if she was capable of having them. She cried because she knew that life would be changing, for better or for worse.

The entire time, Florence ran a comforting hand along her back, and rocked them. She murmured soothing words in French, and prior to that instant, Ariadne had never understood the foreign concept of a mother's calming touch.

**

* * *

A**bove the Perls building, in a room made of glass, lay two men on chaise lounges. There was a small amount of space between the chairs, enough to clumsily grab at the bottle of gin that sat on the floor there.

Arthur was staring at the bottle with deep concentration. A fumbling hand bridged the space between the chairs, and tried to smooth the crinkled skin on the Point Man's forehead.

"You an' wrinkles," said Eames, softly, seriously. "They don't belong together. You've had far too many in the last few hours, so just...stop." If he were less tired, and more sober, he'd have found a way to make what he said into some sort of hidden compliment disguised as an insult. That's how they operated. These were the rules of their interactions. "Things will be easier, now."

Arthur, far more sober and usually more perceptive of concealed context, caught on. "But I'm _straight._"

Eames sighed but settled onto his side on the chaise lounge, a thoughtful look on his face. "I could never understand why people feel it necessary to draw those lines when it comes to sexual attraction...put things in boxes. Why define it? I've had relationships with people I found myself attracted to. Some were men and some were women."

Arthur did not respond, merely nodded and took another swig before Eames reached over and grabbed the other man's wrist, guiding the bottle closer to take a gulp himself. When he pulled the bottle away from his lips and licked them, Arthur's eyes strayed to his mouth.

"I've never really done anything like this before," he commented very quietly, and it incited a lazy grin from the other man. "With a man," he added.

"You're an aggravatingly fast learner, always were," the other man responded before running a hand over the side of Arthur's slick hair, hooking it behind his neck. "And don't say a thing about Nancy and Yusef, because you know she can't get up here and they're taking a kip downstairs."

"You know me too well," the darker haired man groused, and Eames laughed.

"Not well enough, darling."

Arthur nearly toppled off of the lounge when the Brit pulled his head closer, but like in all new situations, he righted himself quickly, and slid onto the other piece piece of furniture.

**

* * *

S**he woke up when she heard the neighborhood school bus creak to a stop, picking up their neighbor's son. Ariadne lifted her head off of the upholstery, immediately felt the stiffness in her back, but struggled to get her arm out from under the chenille throw that had been left draped over her to look at her watch.

"Shit," she muttered and started to scramble for her car keys, rush to wake the girls. There was no way they were getting to be dropped off at the school and daycare on time,and she hated tardiness. Then, Florence appeared in the doorway, a mug of coffee in hand.

"_Du calme_, the girls are eating breakfast," she said, then sat neatly next to Ariadne on the couch, wrapping herself in the caftan she had over her pale cotton dress; the move was so elegant, and it was the same sort of grace that Mal had demonstrated. "You fell asleep and I could not bear to wake you."

"Thank you, for last night."

Florence nodded, but ran a hand over Ariadne's mussed hair. "I should be thanking you. You saved the father of my granddaughters."

The younger woman stiffened, remembering her behavior last night, recalling the manner in which the Florence had treated her. "Listen, Florence..." she started nervously, but the woman squeezed her hand ang gave a frustrated sigh.

"You are, are so _anxieuse_. Ariadne, you are not my Mal," and at this, the woman's voice wavered, but she continued with a brave smile. "You are my Ariadne. Love..._il est comme une vigne, non_? And flowers...more than one can grow on it. They do not replace one another, but they are beautiful on it. Just as beautiful. Just as precious."

Ariadne tried to think of something to say to this, but found her throat still hurt, it was tight with emotion, and that the woman was already standing, and offering a hand to stand.

"Now, I know that today is a school day, but I was thinking that we should try to tell the girls about their father, have them see him."

"Of course," Ariadne readily replied. "I mean, it's their _father_. He wants to see them, and I know they will want to see him – Caroline will want to meet him...Oh God, Caroline," Ariadne breathed and sank back on the couch. "He doesn't really know about her yet."

Florence took a deep breath, a patient one. "I will tell the girls, then. And you must go talk to him. Stephen is a good man, but he does not understand how to handle things like this, not gently. I will wake him and you two shall go see Dominic, prepare him for all of this."

She darted forward, planting a kiss on the forehead of the shell-shocked woman, and left her to her thoughts, only just truly gaining coherence once again.

**

* * *

S**onja was only just leaving as Miles and Ariadne were entering the Perls Building. She looked tiered and drained, but perked up at the sight of the pair approaching her.

"You're results were fine, by the way."

"Because discussing such matters out here is _not_ a HIPPA violation," muttered Miles. "But seeing as you are such a fount of knowledge this morning, perhaps you could tell me if our patient was awake yet."

Sonja answered affirmatively while hoisting her purse higher on her shoulder. "He was just waking up when I was leaving, and he was already asking for both of you." She fixed Ariadne with a stern look. "_Call me_, okay? I know you have my number."

It was strange to see the room well lit and Dominic Cobb sitting up in bed, but it was a welcome change. Stephen knocked and waited for Cobb to look up from the report he was reading to bid them enter.

"I was looking for you two," he said. Cobb held up the folio and gave it a small shake. "There are things we have to talk about later, Stephen. The Institute seems to have outgrown the mission statement we wrote."

"It most definitely has, Dom," the older man said, proudly. "And while the Board and I have tried to keep up with its demands, the Institute will be glad to have you back as a guiding hand...when you are good and ready, of course."

The man on the bed nodded distractedly, and Ariadne watched his eyes wander over to the framed photograph. "I'll need some time, if that's alright."

"Or course," said Miles before he gave Cobb's leg a fatherly pat and started to leave the room. "I"ll be back with the children and lunch for everyone." At the door, he paused. "Ariadne, I'm sure you and Dominic will want to talk, so I'll leave you two to that."

The pair watched their mentor leave, then felt the awkward silence settle.

Ariadne decided to break it by holding up a white folder with a smile before handing it to him. "I brought the girls' class photographs; I didn't get a chance to cut the wallet sizes yet, but..."

She lost her grip of the sentence when she saw how excitedly he slid the photographs out and stared at the children.

"Phillipa...she's so _big_," he murmured, in awe. "And she lost a tooth."

Ariadne laughed, and seated herself in the chair besides his bed. "Oh, the tears," she recalled. "She lost a couple of them...I kept them, for you." She rushed to add "I thought, that is, that you might-"

"Thank you," he said assuredly, without looking up. He tucked Phillipa's photograph behind the next print, and stared, swallowing thickly.

"Caroline may not have met you, but I know she loves you," Ariadne said, gently. "She been waiting a very long time to meet you, and I know...I know you were expecting to see a little boy, but-"

He shook his head, and said "No, no I'm ready. I remember now, I know Mal was only a few months pregnant when everything happened. Her first sonogram hadn't been able to determine the sex."

Cobb put the photographs down and looked at Ariadne, really _looked_. She tried to hold her self still while he did so It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"You're older, than I thought you were. Than you looked."

She nodded. "I'm a half-decent Forger, and we thought it would help. I'm sorry for deceiving-"

"Don't," Dom said sharply. "Do not apologize. For anything. You...I owe everything to you, and in return I-" he stopped, and stared at her. "How can you even stand to be in the same room as me, after what I did to you, Ariadne?"

"Because it wasn't really _you_, Cobb," she replied with a firmness to her voice. "Cobol created that part, and you're more than that – better than that."

It was something she had told herself, more times than she could count; she was just starting to believe it. And judging by the look on Cobb's face, someday he might, too.

Ariadne settled back in her chair, but pointed to one of the pictures in his hand. "Now," she said in a brighter tone, "I think I should tell you why Phillipa's bangs are a little choppy, and it involves a classmate and some gum."

They were still talking an hour later when the door slowly opened, and two little girls came tottering into the room. Cobb stopped, mid-sentence, and stared.

"Daddy?" asked Phillipa, unsure and uncomfortable. Florence herded her closer to the man who was now scrambling to sit up as much as possible on the bed. Ariadne was glad that Sonja had let him shave, because the small beard that he had until that morning might have scared the girls.

"Hello, sweetheart," Dom said, a forced lightness to his voice. There were already tears in his eyes, and he cleared his throat. "Come here, honey."

Stephen helped Phillipa onto the bed, and she studied the man hesitantly from her spot close to the head of the bed. Caroline scrambled into Ariadne's lap, apprehensive but curious as to the conscious man in the bed as well.

"Girls, say 'Hello' to your father," Stephen coaxed, gently.

Phillipa put a tentative hand out and onto Cobb's face. His eyes closed for a second, basking in the touch.

"Car, why don't you go up and give your father a hug?" whispered the brunette woman into the younger child's ear. She lifted her onto the bed, and Cobb opened his eyes when the little girl started to crawl into the space between his arm and torso. The hand he put on her hair may have shaken a little.

"Hello, Caroline, I've waited a very long time to meet you," he whispered, wonder and emotion evident in his voice. When Caroline continued to crawl closer and give the man a hug, Phillipa followed suite, and Dom brought his arms around both of them, pressing kisses on each of them, tightening his hold and closing his eyes, the tears now falling silently.

Stephen and Florence had retreated to just outside the room, and the young woman realized she ought to, as well. It was too personal, too private. Ariadne did not belong in that moment.

She was almost entirely out of the chair when she heard him call her name. Her brown eyes met his blue, and she was struck mute by the look on his face.

"Thank you," he breathed, and while keeping one arm around the children, took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She could have pulled away, easily, but didn't. She sat back down and held his hand.

It was only later, after physical therapy had kicked them out of the room, and they had gone home, that she realized that it had been her first true conversation with Dominic Cobb.

**

* * *

I**t was late, and the apartment was small, so locating the ringing phone was easy for the inhabitant.

"Hello?" asked the sleepy woman's voice. Her posture changed when she recognized the voice on the other end; she stood taller, taught. The caller asked a question.

"Yes, yes it was him. We found him," she responded. "Cobb's awake now."

**

* * *

Playlist (with links if you're on Livejournal)**

**Ariadne wakes, at home: **Holly Brooke – Like Blood Like Honey

**Arthur and Eames: **The Air We Breathe – Figurines

**Their First Conversation: **Last Year's War – Sarah Slean


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Inception, or have claim to it in anyway. **

**

* * *

**

**D**ominic Cobb moved into the Miles' home a month later, after Physical Therapy and the medical team that had been helping to rehabilitate cleared him for the discharge. After assuring them he would follow up with physical therapy, Miles drove him to the house with the stained glass door.

Florence was happy to have Dom back in the house; she did not admit this, but her smile was a little sunnier, and she picked less fights with her lover. The result was that the family's dynamic was a happier one. And even though Dom promised he would start looking for a place of his own (returning to the home he had shared Mal – even if he had accepted her death – was too impossible for him) once he was thoroughly back on his own two feet, it was no secret that Stephen had invited him to stay as long as he wanted.

The girls, who had been visiting their father everyday after class, were ecstatic to have him in the house, and did not leave his side for the entirety of the first day; Phillipa refused to leave his arms, and Caroline watched the newcomer with curiosity. She was still slightly anxious around him, but growing a little more accustomed to his presence with each passing day. Ariadne could see the pained expression that would pass on the man's face when the youngest child showed a preference for her, and accordingly tried to prevent situations that would cause the girls to have to choose between the two adults.

It wasn't just the weather that seemed to imply change was in the air; Ariadne went about her work and daily routine as best as she could, ignoring apprehensions as best she could. Dom was quick to take on as much as he could when it came to caring for the children, but there were moments where they both grew aggravated with one another, and while he was their biological father, she had been helping to raise them for two and a half years. Neither trumped the other, but it left them at odds, and Ariadne feeling her mouth thin into a frown.

So when Sonja invited her and Nancy out for drinks, she considered it only for a short time. Despite the fact that Stephen and Florence were going to a gallery opening, Cobb enthusiastically assured her he'd be just fine. It didn't stop her from leaving the emergency numbers and information on the counter, as opposed to in the drawer.

The club was loud, and the combination of dim lighting and large crowds left tension in Ariadne's shoulders. Back in the day, it was easy to pull a snatch-and-grab in such a location; drug the Mark's drink (they never suspected shorter than average, young women with big, brown eyes and little inviting smiles), help them out to the van or the taxi or the previously secured VIP room, and pull the Extraction. She'd done a couple of one-mans like that – a solo, she corrected herself. 'One-Man' was strictly Cobol shop talk, and she'd tried to school it out of herself.

But it was simply drinks and two women happy to see her. Nancy and Yusef had all but moved in together, and Nancy felt as if this had meant she was on friendlier terms with the rest of the team. She pulled Ariadne in for a hug and kiss on the cheek when she greeted her. Sonja, knowing better, merely gave her a smile.

"I can't believe you actually came!" exclaimed Nancy, happily. "Yusef tried to warn me you might not show, but I had faith."

"Glad I could reward it," she said, and ordered a water from a passing waiter, who was a little miffed at the bland order.

Sonja shook her head. "You're not going to have fun like that," she complained, to which Ariadne quickly replied she would, and when she realized that the nurse was merely joking, she sank back into her seat. It was one of those moments where she had the sudden, but not unfamiliar feeling, that she had missed out on some major social skills at some point.

She joined the two other women, albeit with some reluctance, on the dance floor for some time, and made a point of not retreating to a table once more until they did.

Sonja leaned against her heavily. "Okay, that's enough cardio for me," she said, breathlessly.

Nancy waved down an attendant. "Now, more drinks?"

Drinks ordered, with Ariadne refusing once more, the conversation drifted to the menial, as it was filler; none of the women could truly go into the specifics of their job, nor could they share very much with one another.

"So tell us about Cobb," Nancy prompted her, leaning closer. "Because Yusef told me a little bit about what you did."

"_Huevos_, honey," saluted Sonja before taking a sip.

Nancy's eyebrows rose. "You didn't just do that for the kids...so, what's going on there?" Sonja, eyes widening, nodded but continued to finish her sip before echoing the other woman's question.

Ariadne managed to answer them vaguely, because she wasn't sure what sort of information they were looking for, and what she should really say, or was willing to say. She was able to get Sonja to agree the third woman was starting to get far too tipsy, and that they ought to call it a night.

Ariadne dropped both of them off at their apartments, and studied the buildings as she waited to make sure they both got into their homes safely. Both places were located close by the Institute, and therefore, the Miles house. Easy driving distance.

She had started to try to plan a future, one where Cobb was raising his children once more, and she was left to be a single young woman, like Nancy or Sonja (to the best of her knowledge) with no children to raise. It was difficult, but it was necessary. However, she was going to put it off for as long as she could.

Ariadne was relieved when she climbed the two steps into the kitchen of the Miles home after walking in from the garage. The place was home, at least for the time being, and she'd try to appreciate the time she had left.

**

* * *

T**hey closed the study's door halfway over, helping to muffle the noise of the girls and their play. Arthur pointed at the Cobb's breast pocket.

"Don't tell me you're taking that up again. You really ought to quit, Cobb."

The other man extracted the pack of cigarettes and dropped them and the lighter onto Stephen's desk, almost sheepishly. "It's the nervous habit, it think. I want one, but every time I go to step outside I see one of the girls and-"

Arthur swiped the cigarettes and the lighter into the trash bin before tucking a blue square piece of paper into Cobb's pocket. "Ariadne said the patch wasn't too bad; worked for her. Doctor at the Institute reviewed your file and figured this might help."

The blonde man chuckled . "Besides Florence threatening bodily harm should the house start to smell?" When he saw the restlessness that Arthur seemed to be possessed with, he settled into the desk chair but turned it so he could still see the girls. "Out with it, Arthur."

"Someone's been looking at at the accounts." Arthur's frank manner of dealing with important information had always been appreciated.

"You think it's Cobol?"

"Got to be. All the tip-offs came around the same time, and the timing is too perfect."

Cobb gave him a prompting look. "Care to elaborate a little? I've been in a _coma_, Arthur."

The other man settled into the chair on the other side of the desk. "January is going to see the accounts automatically transferring into a central one; I've been using the quarterly transfers as a chance to check on the totals, ensuring no one has somehow touched any of the money. With Fischer dissembling his father's company, Cobol is going to be scrambling for the money in the account."

Cobb let out a weighty exhale. There was only one way to have the money released from that account. "So I'm a moving target until then, huh?" he asked dryly. He considered grabbing the cigarettes back out of the trashcan.

The expression on Arthur's face was one of total remorse. Cobb regretted, only too late, the words he had said.

"If I could go back, I would have done things differently, Cobb. I wouldn't have suggested-"

"The account was mine to begin with, and I was the one with the training. It wasn't your fault."

Arthur did not appear to be comforted by this information. From what Cobb was gathering, in small threads of conversation with Ariadne about work, Arthur not only felt responsible for Cobb's coma, but Winston's as well.

While Arthur and Cobb were very different men, they both accelerated into dark moods easily, and Cobb knew this. Changing the subject would protect his partner then.

"So my daughters inform me that you and Eames are _very_ good friends, and they know that because you give presents together."

It was a first, in their decades' long friendship: Arthur's cheeks flushed and for once it wasn't because they were running from a sniper rifle.

"That's...that's only a very recent development, actually."

"The gift you left in the dream, that was from both of you. He always got under your skin, anyway."

The Point Man stared at him. "You and Ariadne are both going with the same tactic: total acceptance."

It made sense; he was learning that in most matters, the young woman was almost unflappable, controlled and precise in a way that went deeper than Arthur in some ways. Cobb couldn't help but imagine her passive face when her ex-boyfriend had decided to share the information with her. He laughed. "Clearly, you're important to both of us. Just remind Eames of that fact and what it implies."

Arthur seemed to be anxious to leave. So Cobb plucked the script out of his pocket and waved it. "I'll drop this off at the pharmacy first thing tomorrow."

This pleased the younger man. "Good. That's good, Cobb." He stood and re-buttoned his suit. "I hate to ask, but: should we plan on seeing you on the Saito job? You do realize that he's not threatening the Institute, correct?"

Cobb ushered him out of the study and back into the living room. Work was something he had been considering for the few weeks since he had woken up; the need to do something _good_ was still there, even in reality.

"The doctor wanted me to start at least coming in for physical therapy and training, but if the team is willing to let me be the Architect for a while, at least until I'm comfortable, I think I'd like to come back in."

The dark haired man nodded, happily. "Good. Alright, well, I will be seeing you at work, and tell Ariadne I said 'goodnight' when she finally rolls in."

Cobb checked his watch, and saw it was nine; time for the girls to be put to bed, anyway. "Will do, Arthur."

He spent the next twenty minutes ensconced in the actions of putting his daughters to bed, and then settled in the kitchen at the table with the baby monitor and a pot of coffee.

Arthur's information was disconcerting, but it meant there was a possible positive: he might be able to flush out Malone. Even if he didn't find him in that manner, Tom Malone was two and a half years overdue for a visit from Dominic Cobb.

**

* * *

C**obb was sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a coffee mug. The baby monitor was standing upright on the table, facing him. Over the crackle, she could make out the wispy, sleepy breathing of the girls. He looked up, surprised to see her.

"You're home earlier than I thought," he commented, even as she heavily sat down next to him with a tired sigh. Her purse tipped, and a pen and an inhaler fell out. He saw an EpiPen poking out of an inside pocket of the purse, and recalled that it wasn't the first time he'd seen it there. Must have been for some allergies.

"Not as early as I wanted to be...shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked, concerned. He was still pale; two and a half years without exposure of sun would do that, and he was still working on regaining a lot of the muscle that he had lost (PT on a comatose patient only went so far); Dominic spent most of his time sitting or leaning, and always looking a little wane.

He gave a slight shrug, while gripping the baby monitor, running a thumb over the speaker's grid. "I did that for quite some time, actually," he answered with a wry smile. He let his cool blue gaze travel from the electronics to the young woman. "How are you?" Dom asked, with a sudden change in tactics and tone.

Ariadne honestly weighed that question while she grabbed the pot of coffee off of its trivet and poured herself some. Cobb waited, watching her movements, finding they were identical to the ones she had made in his dreamscape during the same process, and felt almost comforted by it.

"I'll be fine," Ariadne finally responded dismissively. She started to stir her coffee, but could feel his gaze still on her. She let the spoon hit the cup with a _clink_ and looked across at him. "I mean it."

"You should have gone mad," he muttered. It was a compliment; it came out fractured but that was what it had been intended as. They both knew it.

She countered with "Same could be said about a seventeen-year-old who forged documents to allow himself to enroll in the military a year early."

The smile he gave her then seemed to contain some faint glimmer of youthful pride at what she alluded to, but it was tempered with the extra emotional weight he'd borne because of it. "I saw it as a self-imposed method of getting my shit together. And what you said about Cobol, and your training...was it true?"

Ariadne gave him a small nod. "It was disjointed, I know, but-"

"But life is."

She could only answer with a conspiratorial grin. "Very, painfully true," she answered finally.

They enjoyed their coffee quietly for some time, listening to the monitor and the companionable silence. Finally she put the cup down in a manner that suggested she wanted to say something important, so Dom gave her his attention.

"May I propose something?" she asked, and waited for his permission to continue. She took a deep breath and declared "I am going to be as open and honest with you as possible. I can only imagine what it must feel like, not knowing if you can trust the person who has been taking care-"

Cobb cut her off. "-That's not an issue, Ariadne," he said seriously.

"Regardless, I...I feel as if I've been privy to a lot of information about you that you might not have necessarily been comfortable having shared. In addition, it might be of help, in the future, in helping keep Mr. Charles at bay."

Cobb looked startled by her last sentence. "You don't think he's gone? I mean, I shot him."

Ariadne shrugged because, despite the caffeine in the cup before her, she was starting to feel tired; she wasn't an expert, merely somebody who'd been given half a map a decade and a half before.

Cobb stared at his cup, attempting to divine the answer to the murky question in the ceramic's murky depths. Suddenly, he pushed a hand across the table, until it wrapped around her wrist and halted her deep contemplation of the food shopping list on the fridge.

"I wanted to ask you about trying to start fresh, start over, pretend we just were introduced" he said quietly, "because I know we really have not known each other for more than a few weeks, but I think with everything we know about one another it's an impossible task."

"I'd be quick to agree with you," she concurred, and after a second of consideration, had to laugh softly.

He drew his hand back, wrapped it back around his own mug.

It was strange, how very similar they were. The steps they had taken to get to the kitchen table they now sat at were, at face-value, wildly different. But if one were to watch closely, they would see they were the same steps, just a different order. Dom and Ariadne were a mismatched set of sorts, and neither were faultless in the events a few weeks prior.

Dom held out his coffee mug, giving her a hopeful look. "To honesty."

Ariadne tapped the side of her mug against his. "To honesty."

* * *

"**W**ake me up when you're finished, old man."

Cobb glared down his partner over the edge of the sparring pad. It was always strange to see him in sweats, even in the gym. He'd pictured him in a three piece that morning. "You're two years younger than me, Arthur." He gave the padding the most forceful punch he could, and was happy to see Arthur had to shift his feet slightly. Better. Getting better.

The Institute's gym was sparsely occupied, on that chilly afternoon. Cobb had agreed to come back and work as an Architect, for the time being, and Ariadne had been willing to switch to Extractor. He was quickly learning that to be on a Perls team a person had to be able to play a couple different parts, and that their team was the most flexible when it came to that.

Eames was boxing with the another team's Chemist (Yusef made some excuse about being allergic to sweat), and while Cobb continued to jab at the pad Arthur held, he watched his friend's eyes stray to the British man.

Eames was clearly aware of the attention, because after he thoroughly trounced the Chemist, he fanned himself with the bottom of his shirt. Had Cobb not already been more than aware of their relationship, he would have been then. Eames gave Arthur a wolfish smile, and stalked closer to the edge of the ring. Cobb took the moment of distraction and used it; he twisted a little to the side and gave the sparring pad a decent kick. His partner stumbled, and it incited a barking laugh from Eames.

Cobb started to take his boxing gloves off, using the movement to justify ducking his head, but his grin was obvious. When Arthur finally righted himself, he gave a dark look to the man next to him. "Not funny. If it was Ariadne over there, you'd probably have done the same thing."

Dom threw a glove at Arthur, who caught it easily. "Got manners, Arthur. And it's not like that." He was a grown man, for Christ's sake; the high school locker room sort of talk should have been far behind him.

Yes, he was attracted to her: _she_ was attractive; she was intelligent; and there was something about knowing how goddam _lethal_ she could be, should she choose, that was a turn-on. But he was still adjusting to his life, and even in the most indulgent of fantasies, he couldn't imagine some one-night affair or rushed relationship. Seeing her care for his children had left more than just a tug at his heart; it was hard to address the qualms he had when it came to parenting the children when he saw how deeply devoted she was.

And there still was a giant mountain of guilt he was trying to tackle, leftover from what his subconscious had subjected her to.

Arthur tossed the mat to the side of the room, and handed Cobb his water bottle. They'd always known when to switch subjects when things got to tetchy. Arthur chose that moment to do so. He pointed at Cobb's arm, and the beige-colored square that peeked out under the hem of his shirt. "The patch?"

"The patch," he assured him after taking a long pull at the water bottle. "So are you and Eames coming over tonight? Caroline wanted two different colors for her cake. What do you say: a couple beers, watch my daughter open presents-"

"-Listen to you continue to boast how you have the world's most perfect children? We'd love to," Eames answered, coming over to join the other two men. "We'll be over at seven, so long as I can wrestle the pomade out of Arthur's hands."

Cobb left them to squabble while he hit the showers.

* * *

**N**o one would have predicted that it would be a cake, of all the items, to break the peace and unity of the Miles household.

Ariadne was still finding glitter on the soles of her shoes, three days after the party they had thrown for Caroline and her friends from preschool. Miles complained loudly that inviting Eames, Arthur, and Yusef over to their house would mean he would have to vacuum whole place all over again, because it always lead to trouble, but the other adults ignored him.

Cobb had ordered the cake the day before (a rich chocolate cake from a gourmet bakery with icing that was blue, which was the little girl's favorite color second only to the purple of the first cake, and her princess costume she insisted on wearing), and Arthur and Eames had volunteered to pick it up along the way.

Phillipa was busy regaling Yusef with the tale of her most recent dress rehearsal for the Thanksgiving Pageant when Arthur, Eames, the cake and what appeared to be an entire party store's supply of balloons arrived at the door.

Ariadne grabbed the cake out of Arthur's hands so he could receive the incoming dark-haired little girl hurtling towards him; Eames was busy charming Phillipa, as he always was.

Cobb followed Ariadne into the kitchen, even as she refused the help with the cake.

"Honestly, it's a cake, Dom, not a body," she insisted, as she placed the cake on the counter. "But you can grab the plates, okay?"

He was not listening to her; to be honest, he had wanted to handle the festivities on his own, as it was the first birthday for Caroline he'd been able to do so. "Go grab a beer and let me-"

"Shit," Ariadne uttered as she surveyed the cake. Cobb had no time to ask what the problem was, because Caroline came into the room a second later and made a bee-line for the cake.

"Can I have a lick?" she asked, and started to encroach precariously close to the cake's pristine icing with a curious finger.

"Honey, you have to-"

Cobb sidled over, and put a hand on his daughter's head. "Ariadne, it's her birthday cake; she can have a taste. Kids love that."

Ariadne's mouth thinned and she cast a nervous glance at the little girl before starting to speak. "No, Dom, she can't, because-"

Dom scooped his daughter up and started to guide her finger towards the cake once more. He knew Ariadne had the best of intentions in mind, but quite frankly, he could see she was a little overly protective. His own childhood, and reaction to that sort of parenting, had taught him well enough that there had to be some sort of leniency at times. "Give it a rest, Ariadne, okay? She wants a taste, and-"

"She _can't_," she insisted. "Sweetheart, I'm really sorry but-"

Dom pressed Caroline's head against his chest, and put a hand over her exposed ear before leaning in to say fiercely "Jesus Christ, Ariadne, _I'm_ their goddam father, and _I_ said she could have a lick. Give it a rest, okay?"

She was taken aback by the outburst, just as much as he was; the event wasn't that frustrating, but the few times they had clashed over decisions regarding the children had been brushed too quickly under the rug, and had amounted to this confrontation. Over icing, of all things.

The young woman recovered quickly, her dark eyes only betraying the hurt slightly, before she pointed to the outside of the package. "The cake has pecans in the icing, Dom. _She's allergic to nuts._"

Flor, somehow sensing the trouble brewing in the kitchen, swept into the room and took Caroline from Cobb. "Let us go start to open the presents, yes?" she asked the little girl, who quickly forgot about the cake when presented with promise of new things. The pair were left to stare at one another in the kitchen.

"We've got an ice cream cake in the freezer," muttered Ariadne, eyes downcast. The slim woman started to turn towards the appliance, but Dom grabbed her arm.

"Ariadne..." he started to say, but she wrenched her arm out of his grasp. Her head snapped up, and she fixed him with a furious glare.

"_Don't_," she seethed. "Later."

**

* * *

A**nd it was later, much later that night, by the time the two were left to be able to discuss what had happened. Yusef, Eames and Arthur had left a short time after the girls had been put to bed, and from the cryptic looks Arthur and Eames had been sharing, they must have known something was amiss.

Miles and Flor climbed the stairs to go to bed only after Dom and Ariadne assured that they didn't need assistance cleaning the kitchen. The ice cream cake had become a giant melting mess, especially after Caroline had been allowed to stick her hands in it. The photographs were endearing; the mess was mildly bothersome.

The two worked in silence, scrubbing at the dishes and then the table and other contaminated surfaces. Cobb saw her purse beneath one of the chairs, and the EpiPen in it, and Ariadne heard him when he cursed under his breath.

"Are we going to talk about this?" he asked as he took the last dish from her and put it in the dishwasher.

She was prepared for an all out tirade; he was sure to be indignant and she was feeling a little more than slightly self-righteous. She had been nothing but polite, and trying her best to stay out of his way as he got his footing once more, but Ariadne Maurer wasn't about to let him behave like that towards her.

He followed her out into the garage. Phillipa's bike had fallen over, so she squatted to right it, before speaking.

"We can't be arguing like this," she said. "Not in front of the girls."

When she turned to face him, she was surprised to not find him angry, at all. Dominic had an apologetic look on his face as he drew closer.

"I'm sorry," he said, honestly. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

The angle wasn't as difficult as she had imagined it to be; he'd easily, casually closed the space between them. As if it was perfectly normal. As if...

The woman pushed herself away, disentangling herself from his embrace. Dominic took an unbalanced step backward, knocked the bike back over, and ended up supporting his weight on the side of Stephen's car.

She'd seen it coming: the easy way they had fallen into things, for the most part; the affection they had for one another; the commonalities. She was at fault as well, and was honestly attracted to him, but knew that the timing was off.

He was going to hate her.

Ariadne leaned against the storage shelf, and took a shaky breath. "I think it would be best if I moved out," she announced, news to him but a confirmation to herself. They received these words in very different ways.

"What?" he asked, incredulous. "Ariadne, the girls-"

"They are _your_ children, and...and I care about them, enough to be able to say that they shouldn't see us fight. I've been overstepping my boundaries, and if we both handle this appropriately, the kids won't be hurt by it."

So clinical, and cold, once more. Ariadne hated how easily she slipped into it, but it kept her safe, didn't it?

Cobb averted his gaze; whatever he was imagining was something he wished to avoid. "They can't afford to lose another parent." She ignored his last statement, because she had spent two and a half years trying to find a way to define her role in the children's lives that was _not_ that word.

"_We_ can't afford to just – just jump into something. Dom, anything between the two of us right now would be a convenience, and down the road, when we would start to really, truly consider that...it would be even harder on the kids.

"I was thinking about trying to find a place nearby." She stopped, cleared her throat in an attempt to prevent how obvious her vulnerability was about to appear, before continuing in a voice that careened off of its rails. "I'd um, I really still want to be involved in the girls' lives, if you find it acceptable." She continued, hoping she'd regain some control over the cracked sort of tone of her voice. "I promised Phillipa that I would be at her Thanksgiving Pageant, and Caroline her preschool graduation. And I could still help with getting them to school, or watching them. We could work it out, I think."

"Work out a schedule..figure out holidays." The man gave a small noise of acknowledgment, sat down on the garage steps, and drew a hand through his hair before looking up at her with a defeated expression. "Maybe this is what a divorce is like," he said, bitterly. "We ought to ask Stephen and Flor."

The small laugh she gave was involuntary and unstable. "I'm not quite sure they're the go-to couple for that."

He gave a dry chuckle, a bitter, harsh sound. "You've got a point...Are you sure, Ariadne? Please don't – that is, if I read the situation incorrectly-"

"No, no, Cobb. You didn't," she admitted, and when they looked to one another, she could tell he was starting to understand. She crossed the cement flooring to sit next to him on the step. Ariadne was going to have to get used to this, this proximity without potentiality. At least for the time being. "And that's the problem. You just got your life back; you need time to settle into it, and having me here isn't working out."

The man sighed, and looked over his shoulder at her. "I'll be calling you constantly, with questions," he declared, with forced lightness.

"I'll leave lists everywhere, I promise; color-coded, Arthur-specific lists and instructions, and Flor will go mad when she sees them all taped about the place."

There was a moment that passed where either one of them could have made a joke, but she couldn't continue to pretend. Ariadne put her hand over his on the cold step. "I'm sorry," she whispered, regretfully.

He didn't tell her not to apologize.

**

* * *

Playlist (with links if you're on Livejournal)**

**The Club:** Shame On Me – Amanda Blank

**Coffee and Honesty:** Elbows – Switching Off

**In the Garage: **When Your Mind's Made Up – Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

**

* * *

T**he phone rang – a distinct ringtone set up for Cobb, and Ariadne had to shift Caroline from one hip to the other to get the cell phone out of her pocket to answer it.

"Hey,I have you on speaker phone," she greeted and warned warmly. Florence was in the other room, arguing with the realtor over something – probably the state of the crown molding, since clearly he was directly responsible for that – so she ducked around the corner, closer to where Phillipa sat with a sketch pad and a pencil. She held out the phone for the girls to greet their father.

"Hello, Daddy!" shrieked Caroline, leaning closer to the phone, followed by Phillipa with similar sentiments.

"Hey princesses," he greeted fondly. There was a moment of silence, and it was almost as if she could _hear_ him smiling over the phone. "Ar, could I ask you something?"

Ariadne put Caroline down on the floor, who was happy to watch her sister draw, for the time being, demanding the older girl draw her a castle. The young woman stepped carefully over them and to the window, switching the phone's speaker function off in the process.

"What's up?" She was trying very hard not to allow panic to niggle her terribly; he was a grown man, was doing _much_ better with physical therapy, and the pair had been able to try to move on amicably. Cobb had agreed with her when she asked if she could take the girls with her to look at apartments; involving them in the process, trying to paint it as positively as possible, would be the healthiest course of action when it came to the children. Flor had come along, saying she had no other plans, but Ariadne had her suspicions it was because she hoped to find something wrong with every apartment they looked at – she'd been very successful so far.

There was quite a bit of noise on the other end of the phone, and Ariadne frowned at the window frame she stood before. "Is everything alright?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm in the attic," Cobb grunted. "Jesus Christ, does Flor ever throw anything out?"

"Not since I moved in," she replied, and picked at some flecking paint. "What are you looking for?"

"It's fall, right?"

"Last time I checked."

"So that means winter is around the corner," he huffed. It was easy to tell from the amount of background noise and his exerted voice that he was still actively crawling over items, all the while talking to her. The image of the Extractor doing so, with the phone to his ear, was comical.

Then it dawned on her, and she couldn't help but grin widely. "You're getting down their winter clothes."

He stopped moving. "I'm getting down their winter clothes," he affirmed. It was a simple gesture, but the fact that he remembered meant a great deal, and from the tone of his voice, she knew he felt the same way. "Well...I would if I could find them."

Ariadne tried to remember where the box was by visualizing the layout in the attic. "I'd like to say near the Christmas tree – that big body-sized tub- but I could be terribly wrong. Or Flor moved things again."

There was rustling, and then a slightly distant but triumphant cry. "Found 'em!" he called.

Grinning, she leaned against the window and looked at the children beside her. Four years ago, her main concerns were to follow Agency orders and keep herself together enough to deliver intel to her handler. Now, work concerns were less life-or-death but came secondary to the care of those children. Two little girls she had watched starting to grow. "You do realize that none of those clothes will fit Peanut, correct? Care might actually be able to wear her sister's clothes but-"

"You're kidding, right? You're going to rub it in my face that I can't stop my children from growing? Break a man's heart, Ariadne."

There were footsteps behind her, and Flor and a ruffled looking realtor entered the room. "I think I'm going to take those growing girls to lunch now, actually. They don't really like this apartment."

Caroline looked up from dictating her sister's drawing. "There's no room for our sleepovers," she complained to Ariadne.

"And _that_ is a key issue when it comes to picking real estate," came Dom's voice through the phone, clearly having heard his daughter through the phone.

"We'll be back soon," Ariadne said, and closed her phone. She and Cobb were getting along for the most part, and conversations such as the one that had just transpired were becoming fairly normal. So long as neither brought up the events of Caroline's birthday party, they were fine.

Flor came to stand directly in front of Ariadne, and 'smug' was the only word for the expression. "Judging by that sunny little smile on your face, you just got of the phone with Dominic, yes?"

Ariadne pocketed her phone and shook her head. "Yes, it was Dominic, and no, you are not going to be able convince me _not_ to move out."

Flor laughed. "You say that now, _ma ch__è__re_, but you know how mothers are."

No, she really didn't. It was a sobering thought that let air out of the bright, yellow balloon she imagined to be in her chest.

Slipping past the French woman, she started to quietly gather up the girls and thank the realtor before the four woman left the building.

At the end of the week, Ariadne found her new house – she was financially able to expand her search, and it would allow her her own space. Cobb had found the listing online – what he had been doing looking at real estate was beyond her understanding until he said he was looking for himself and the girls. In fact, he had found a house; a beautiful cedar-shingled home that resembled the home he had built in his dream. It was only a few blocks away from the house she was quickly starting to fall in love with.

She met with the seller; a woman in publishing who would be moving to the East coast and happy to answer any of her questions. She introduced her to Mrs. Carlton, the next-door neighbor who was already on her porch and watching Ariadne curiously.

It was a beautiful house, near to the Cobb home, and it came with the built-in security of a prying neighbor. Ariadne quickly got to work on the paperwork.

Packing the first box was one of the most difficult things she had ever done.

**

* * *

E**ames was positively gleeful when he strolled into the office with his duffel. Arthur looked up, sharply, and his eyes lingered on the bag a moment too long.

"Terribly sorry, but I am afraid I must depart and have my share of complimentary drinks on a luxurious private flight to Japan." He sighed, dramatically. "Honestly, Cobb; you're a member of the Board, you ought to talk to some one about the inhumane conditions we typically travel in."

Cobb, looked up from the sketch pad he was huddled over and deadpanned "I'll get right on that, Eames. I'll just check with Finance to see about acquiring a private jet." It was a welcome change, being able to joke and share in banter with a team. He was enjoying his work, and balancing time with the children, getting to know them.

He and Ariadne were...well they were. He was more than upset with how he had handled things, sure as hell impressed with how she had reacted, and accepting that she was moving out. It was hard to imagine a future where she wasn't sharing breakfasts or helping with the bedtime routine.

Ariadne wished Eames a safe flight from her spot across from Dom. The pair was working on some initial level concepts in the corner and had found collaborating on the process was leading to dazzlingly complex but genius dream levels. Where he could instinctively cull the information from a Subject, she knew just how to build a level and create deposits for the information they would require.

Yusef trotted over to shake their friend's hand, just as Arthur slowly rose from his stool by a work table, where he had been cleaning his Glock.

"Yusef, Nancy was looking for you," Cobb said pointedly, just as Ariadne started to walk back towards the area they had sectioned off with the walls, to halfheartedly rummage through their model supplies. In truth, Nancy probably was looking for Yusef; Cobb had told the group of them, during a visit with Winston, that he wanted to try to help Surface the man. Seeing as Sonja was the nurse involved in his own recovery, he requested that she be assigned to the case as well. Nancy had been a little overwhelmed by the news, and would probably need some support.

Arthur gave his friend an appreciative glance as he and Eames were left to say their farewells, and Cobb followed Ariadne.

"That was kind of you," she murmured while she flicked through whiteboard scraps. He shrugged.

"Seemed to be the right thing to do."

Ariadne looked up at him, seriously. "I was talking about _both_ Winston and Arthur, actually."

Cobb seemed to be slightly uncomfortable accepting the compliment. "Just doing what I feel is right. Now you said something about needing my help, earlier?"

She nodded, and ran her finger over the satin-smooth surface of their construction materials. "I don't know if I'm being paranoid, or what: I just have this horrible feeling that Cobol is planning something. If Cobol was looking for you, and suddenly you're awake, and your credit cards and various other linked information is suddenly active, it's going to set off alarms. For all we know, they may have _planted_ someone here; if Arthur was here and you two were partners, they probably would try to trace you through him. I know my mother is still working for them, and I have an idea of what she is capable of, so I'm a little more than concerned."

Well, if that wasn't confirmation of both his and Arthur's fears, he did not know what was.

Cobb exhaled heavily and leaned his hip against the table, next to her. "Remember the honesty thing?" he asked, and hunched over to place his arms on the surface, hands clasped. Ariadne made a small noise of recognition, and attentively waited for him to continue, resting her hip against the side of the table and bending as well.

He spoke in a low voice, because Arthur did not need to be reminded of the issue while he was speaking to Eames. "Arthur and I have our suspicions, as well. Actually, we're in the middle of trying to search out Malone...if you remember-"

"-Yes," she responded distractedly. "You mentioned him when we were down there."

"Tom Malone..," he started to explain, but when she started to furrow her brow and look to him sharply, he stopped. "What is it?"

"Tom Malone was Cobol, I can tell you that...he worked with my mother, for her. He was an intermediary for the Agency, too; I saw a couple of memories of him with my handler. _That's_ the Malone you're talking about? Thin man? Dark hair? Exudes corporate sleaze?"

The points of connection in their stories had stopped being peculiar some time ago, but they always left Cobb reeling. "Yes," he said slowly, and then after a small, shaking laugh, continued. "Malone was Cobol. I knew, because I had met him a few times over the years, more so after I transitioned from the military side to Cobol's research team. In fact, he was the man I had to hand my letter of resignation to, before I left Cobol's employ to join the Institute's team."

"It would be funny, if all of this was happening to other people," she noted, bitterly. "Please tell me he's switched sides."

"No, quite the opposite. I guess I should start by saying that while I was still an active operative in the field, and we were working to recruit for the Cobol-Military partnership, we found that the best way to test potentials was in real world situations. See how they measured up in seemingly true Extractions. The military started a few bank accounts to support us. I was the head of my division, so the accounts were mine to handle. The accounts, combined, were massive, in the millions. By the time I checked out, they were in the billions.

"I noticed that the accounts were growing too quickly, that the interest rates would never have allowed that sort of accumulation so quickly; I reported it to my military contacts and the DoD started an investigation. Defense was appalled when they realized that recruiters were somehow returning more money than they should have been: the Extractions were no longer recruitment exercises, they were real. That was the final straw that broke the camel's back, you could say. The military withdrew their contract with Cobol, and things were kept quiet."

Ariadne sighed, and stared at her hands on the table top for a moment, nodding as she processed what he said.

"If it was a joint account, than neither group could really claim it, since it could be argued the Cobol was somehow contributing to it. They were desperate, weren't they? For the money."

He bobbed his head, and once again marveled at the woman beside him. "I think that's why Malone went to the lengths he did, to try to get the account information from me. I was already in the middle of turning over the money to DoD when Malone requested to have a meeting with me...in retrospect, it's incredible to see he was able to get back out before Project Minotaur trapped him."

"Jesus," uttered the woman, dropping her head to run both hands through her hair. "Cobb, I had no idea that this was why...so you know for certain that they didn't get a hold of the accounts after you went under?"

"Arthur is able to check the totals, but I'm the only person with the authorization codes to withdraw the money. He's been monitoring it and told me a transfer jump is coming up; there will be an account with billions of dollars in it in January, and there's a whole group of people who probably resort to actions we cannot even imagine for that money now that-"

"-Now that Fischer is dissolving his father's company," Ariadne finished for him, breathless. "We really made this situation a hell of a lot worse, didn't we?"

"Fischer Morrow didn't publicize the relationship. There was no way for you to have known, none of you."

Guilt was clear in her dark eyes. "But _I_ did. I've kept tabs on Cobol since I left their employ, as best as I can. While Fischer Morrow was as corrupt as companies come, Miles only agreed to Saito's offer after I told him about their secret Cobol funding."

Dom opened his mouth, to reassure her he didn't hold her accountable, but Arthur came walking in. His lips were swollen, and his eyes were glossy, but he pretended not to notice those things. Ariadne, on the other hand, looked almost smug.

"Not a word," the Point Man warned the woman, who lips bloomed into a self-satisfied smile. "Um, Eames said he's willing to help however he can, if we go."

"Go where?" Ariadne asked quickly. He hadn't gotten around to asking for her help.

Arthur looked to Cobb for some sign as to how to respond, but he put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She knows about the accounts," he informed him, but then looked to his other friend. He turned to look at Ariadne on his other side. "We're hoping to catch Malone looking at the accounts' totals. When he does, we'll find where he is, get in touch with our contacts in that city, and go after him."

"I'll look after the girls," she offered, and he knew she would not feel comfortable until he agreed. Besides, he wouldn't have any one else caring for them, in such a situation. He gave her an appreciative look.

"Guys," said Arthur, glancing up from the phone he'd pulled out of his suit pocket. "If either of you are going to make it home to get Phillipa to her pageant, I would leave now. Eames just texted me saying parkway traffic is horrendous."

"I can drive us both?" suggested Cobb, and Ariadne nodded mutely, grabbing her purse before following him to the elevator.

Arthur was settling down in front of his laptop and dialing a number on his phone. Cobb was thankful, in that moment, for a Point Man like him. They'd surely have an answer soon enough if Arthur was working on it.

* * *

"**I** don't recall the pilgrims being quite so fidgety," groused Stephen, loud enough to incite a slap on the arm from Flor beside him. Cobb, on the other end, with a camera in his grip, leaned forward enough to tell the couple to quiet down. Beside him, Ariadne's shoulders moved with her silent laughter. He leaned closer to her ear, behind Caroline's head.

"Can't take them anywhere, can we?" he muttered.

She shifted Caroline on her lap and shook her head after he leaned back in his seat. "Watch your daughter," she instructed. "Her part is coming up."

When Phillipa took her step forward to deliver her lines, Ariadne found her gaze shifting from the little girl to the child's father, who stared at the stage, enraptured. He shot out of his seat when the performance was over to loudly applaud the pageant.

It was moments like that that made Ariadne realize, despite all of the trouble she had caused and gone through, that she had done the right thing, and that her efforts had been worth it.

**

* * *

P**hillipa insisted upon wearing her pilgrim's outfit to the dining room table a few days later, twirling around in her voluminous skirts, causing her father to bob and weave to avoid the six-year-old as he carried the turkey to the table. Caroline sat docilely at the table, flaking a roll into snowy flakes on her plate.

They had decided that, despite all of the stress they were under, the holiday meal would be work-free. Flor had tried to negotiate for football-free, but Cobb had heartily refused; he switched the radio on to listen to game coverage.

They finally settled around the table. Ariadne was asked by Stephen, with a mouth full of food, to pass the potatoes. Caroline was giving Dom grief over the turkey he had cut up for her. Phillipa graced them with a second performance of her lines, to thunderous applause. Eames and Arthur would be over for dessert in a few hours; Ariadne had grabbed a six pack for the game.

"I know," announced Flor at one point, "that I said I didn't want any unexpected guests, but Dominic, _mon__gar__ç__on_, I am so very, very glad that you are with us."

Dom looked up from cleaning yams from Caroline's mouth to grin at the French woman. "Me too, Flor," he replied.

Ariadne settled back in her seat at one point, and watched how everyone happily interacted. Their was a sense of contentment in moments such as this.

The girls were watching a cartoon movie, and the adults were all cleaning up after the meal, when Arthur came marching into the house, Eames following in his wake. Flor rushed to greet them at the door, but Arthur muttered a quick apology in French and continued to stride into the study, where Eames, Ariadne and Cobb rushed to follow.

"What's going on?" Cobb asked once Eames closed the door and the four were sequestered in the wooden-paneled room. He finished drying his hands with a dishrag, and handed without looking to Ariadne, to do the same. Arthur was practically pacing the room.

"We found him. That son of a bitch, he did _exactly_ what we thought he would do. Caught him checking the balances."

Eames crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "I just got back, we're in the middle of the best damn vegetable casserole I ever made and he got the phone call from some bloke in Arlington," he explained.

Ariadne risked a glance over at the man beside her; Dom's face was gravely calm. She could almost feel the anger rolling off of him. "Where?" he asked.

Arthur leaned against the fireplace, and took a steadying breath. "D.C.. He's in D.C., Cobb."

"Cobol's headquarters are there right now. It's a smaller organization, but it's a safe bet that they're higher ups would all be in the area," rationalized Ariadne. "It gives the Agency a more believable cover as a government group."

"So we go, and we grab him, and we put him under," Arthur decided. "We get whatever information we need, and we take them down, for once and for all."

"Call Saito," demanded Cobb of Eames. "Tell him to refuel the jet, we're going to need it."

Eames unfolded himself from the door and pulled out his phone, just as the door opened. Eames stepped fully out of the way, and ushered the man in. He looked tired.

"What's wrong?" Ariadne asked as soon she saw his face.

Miles gripped his cellphone in his hand, tightly. "It's...they just called me from the fifth floor. It's Winston."

"Is there a problem?" Arthur frowned.

The older man stared helplessly at the phone in his hands. "He went into cardiac arrest an hour ago," he said quietly. "They tried to revive him, but...it was of no use. I'm terribly sorry."

It was the same initial C.O.D. ascribed to Mal's death.

Arthur swallowed thickly, and nodded his sleek head. "Was there any suspicions that it wasn't natural?"

Miles gave a helpless shrug. "We won't know anything for certain until the autopsy results get back in."

Cobb took a step towards the door, then stopped, and seemed to backtrack, appearing restless with anger. Ariadne went to put a hand on his shoulder at the same time Arthur said his partner's name, warningly.

"I am not waiting for toxicology to tell me what we already know," ground out the Extractor. "I'm going to pack my bag."

Miles tried to block his path. "Dominic, it's Thanksgiving, there's nothing that you'd do today that can't be done tomorrow."

Cobb shook his head. "No. If this was Cobol, none of us are safe. I've dragged you all into this, and I will not stand for anyone else getting hurt because of me."

"I'm not without blame," interjected Arthur, pointedly. "But I feel the same way."

"Now that we've established you both have issues with guilt, can we focus on something a little more pressing? Somebody ought to call Yusef, so he could tell Nancy. She may have moved on but this was still someone she was emotionally involved with."

"And Nancy," suggested Ariadne. "I'll call her; she was off today."

**

* * *

W**hen Yusef knocked on her door, Nancy opened it, in her coat with her keys in hand. "Honey," she greeted, then frowned. "You said you were busy today."

He had visiting his mother, but Professor Miles' call had interrupted the visit, and appropriately so. "You were headed out?" he asked, dumbly. He was trying to figure out how best to tell her.

"Um," she looked uncomfortable for a moment, then smiled sheepishly. "This is awkward: I was going to go visit Winston and wish him a happy Thanksgiving, put the game on for him. I might be moving on, but he really doesn't have family, so...baby, what's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"Can I come in, Nancy?" he asked, regretfully. "I need to tell you something."

**

* * *

M**iles was sitting on the couch, watching the girls distractedly as they played. After Eames and Arthur left, the latter to grab his own things, Ariadne left Cobb to pack his bag and fell back into the leather furniture. Stephen looked balefully over at her.

"Well I suppose that you, Cobb, and I will have much to talk about with the members of the Board at the charity ball, won't we?"

She looked at him incredulously. "You still want to go to that? With everything going on?"

"Should we try to have a pleasant Christmas, or shall we just put off holiday merriment for the time being, in general?"

"Miles, you understand why he wants to do this," she said, but he waved dismissively at her.

"I very well understand, it's simply that I know Cobb, and what he'll do, and I do not know what I will do if he loses himself again...can you imagine how Flor will react?"

Ariadne picked at a tassel on a pillow, and shook her head. "He's got Arthur with him, and he's more aware of what he's capable this time around."

"We already know what's going to be on that toxicology report," he sighed, changing the subject. "The serum and Somnacin, and honestly, we have a whole building full of suspects. We won't even know when he was initially injected, since we haven't been testing for it all this time."

"Tomorrow, Miles," she assured him, pushing off of the sofa. "Tomorrow security will start to review all the badges swiped, and we'll start to put this all together."

He nodded, but he looked terribly lost as he continued to watch the girls. Ariadne wandered through the kitchen and found Flor on the phone, calling a family member in Colorado. She continued to the staircase and climbed it.

She hesitated at his door, but without looking up, he called "Come in."

Cobb seemed anxious. His head down, he was going through his duffel once again. "I'm going to leave my Beretta with you-"

Ariadne picked up the gun from its spot on the comforter, and held it out to him. Although he looked over at her, he made no move to take it back. "I know that you noticed I keep this house fairly secure; you and Arthur said so when he came through to check the other day." The gun was still warm in her hand from Cobb's residual heat. "Besides, you ought to have that with you."

He did not seem to be persuaded, so she took a step closer. "Please? There's a Tomcat in my purse, Dom," she comforted him, then added, "titanium. My SIG is in my room. Miles keeps a shotgun in the garage."

He sighed heavily, and took the weapon back from her, tucking it into his waistband. "It's not that I don't trust you, I'm just...just worried." His eyes strayed to the boxes by the door to her bedroom.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "The girls will be fine. I might make a few trips to my apartment, but other than that I'm going to be here; should anything come up, I already gave my new, nosy septuagenarian neighbor all of my emergency numbers, including yours."

The blonde man dragged a restless hand through his hair with a huff. "It's just...I know how these guys work; if I go after him out there, someone is inevitably going to make a move out here. It's a fucked up chess game and I hate to involve you in it."

"We know they might make a move, and you and I both have discussed our suspicions as to whom it might be. I'm keeping my eyes out."

They had wordlessly limited physical contact in the last few weeks, and Ariadne made a point of that with most people in general, but in that moment, she felt compelled to put a hand on his arm, and he made real eye contact with her. The slight woman squeezed his arm and gave him a thin smile.

His cobalt blue eyes seemed to be taking her in, studying her. "Promise me you'll be careful," he whispered.

The tone of her voice was jarringly bare, and she felt her own words in her gut. "When it comes to the girls, there's no question, and you know that."

He huffed, clearly spurred into responding passionately by the way she phrased her response. "There is no one I trust more when it comes to them, but I'm talking about my entire family, alright? And regardless of where things stand between us, that includes _you._"

Ariadne could only stare at the man before her, for a moment. Yes, she had come to view the group of them as some sort of team, or unit, but a family? Family members were valuable, irreplaceable. To think that someone viewed her in such terms, when she had been taught for so long that she was basically disposable, left her speechless.

Throat tight and eyes stinging, she nodded, and willingly allowed herself to be pulled to him, and for him to wrap his arms around her, for her hair to be tangled between his digits. Her fingers bunched in the fabric of his jacket, and her face was buried in his shoulder.

Someday, maybe she'd take his scent, and strength, and presence for granted. For the time being, it was precious.

Finally, after what felt like forever and yet not long enough, he whispered into her ear "See you at the ball".

"Of course," she responded back just as quietly.

He pulled his head back to look at her again, and then he brought his mouth down to hers. She did not protest when he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, slowly allowing his lips to rest on the skin there.

Ariadne wished to say something, anything, do something; any action at that moment, however, would go against what she had pushed into tenuous existence between them for the last month.

"Come back safely, alright?" she finally requested, and with a small smile he nodded before grabbing his duffel and leaving the room to hunt down the girls for their goodbyes.

After a steadying breath, Ariadne looked around what was now Cobb's bedroom; she had considered it to be sacred, in a way; in truth, it had seemed disrespectful to enter. Cobb had been using a guest bedroom for the first week or two, but had then decided to move his belongings into Mal's room.

It suddenly seemed that the feel of Dom's lips on hers was the only ghost that lingered in the room.

**

* * *

Songlist (with links if you're on livejournal)**

**House-hunting: **Azure Ray – Don't Leave My Mind

**Tom Malone: **Sanders Bohlke – Search and Destroy

**Dominic Says Goodbye:** Ray LaMontagne – Hold You In My Arms


	11. Chapter 10

**Words: 7973**

**Notes: ** Inception is still not mine. The greatest of thanks goes to swampophelia, who is an amazing friend, fellow fan, and fount of knowledge; this wouldn't make half as much sense if it wasn't her for help.

* * *

"**Y**ou cleaned your gun already," Arthur stated, continuing to write on his notepad, although Cobb ignored him and continued the process. "Like an hour ago."

The only sound was of metal on a metal counter.

The Point Man turned swiveled in his chair to face his friend, allowing himself to still be able to see the surveillance cams out of the corner of his eye. Malone had not left his apartment since the evening before, save to get his mail. He'd booked a flight in a few hours, and they'd already been in contact with the limo service, bribing them to ensure the plan went well. "Seriously, Cobb. Just relax."

In the two days that they had been in D.C., Cobb had been restless, easily agitated, and constantly checking back in with Ariadne and Miles. Arthur had gone about doing the legwork and research, slightly worried about leaving Cobb by himself in his hotel room.

Eames had laughed when he had related this over one of their phone conversations. "He's a grown man, Arthur, not a child. Give him a little space but keep him on one of those leashes that I see people toddling their tikes on."

Arthur had been too busy trying not to laugh at the image to correct him.

Cobb looked up from his gun, fixing his friend with a severe look. "I can't. You know I can't. I just keep thinking this over...It doesn't make any sense. Swiss bank accounts or not, they know that any attempt to touch those accounts is going to raise flags with more international agencies and governing bodies than you can count. So why go through the trouble?"

Arthur stared out the window, contemplating. "You said Maurer was climbing the ranks back then. I was never really as involved in Cobol's side as you were, but I remember you telling me that she was too ambitious...not capable of what she was aiming for. You barely knew her and could call that from a mile away, so imagine if you actually worked with her and started to suspect she was leading you towards trouble."

Cobb's eyebrows rose. "Mutiny?"

Arthur held his hands out on the chair's arms and shrugged. "Quite possibly. If she were getting sloppy, getting too paranoid, I'd say they'd feel it was the only thing to do. It would get her out of the way while they hid, and restructured their organization. Maurer got to where she is because she knew who to play and how to take advantage of her coworkers' fears. If it's just her now, lonely at the top then she's got no one to hide behind. She's looking for a way to assert her position, prove to rest of Cobol she belongs where she is; if someone came to her to get clearance for the operation, she probably cleared it without looking at the particulars. "

Cobb shook his head. "No, think about it: she probably prides herself in knowing everything that's going on...or believes that she does."

Arthur started to bob his head slowly as he processed the idea. "She's only one person, so...an assistant? A right hand man?"

"Malone."

They both looked over at the surveillance photograph on the desk: a photograph of Maurer and Malone at a conference in earlier days. They had barely known either of them, then, had just met themselves.

Cobb studied the notepad Arthur was writing on, ran his hands over his face, and his fingers lingered on his lips for a moment. "It amazes me they're related."

Arthur nodded, aware of where Cobb's train of thought had strayed. The corner of the younger man's mouth curled up slightly into a soft smile. Ariadne had never admitted to him who her mother was, not until after they had broken up, but he'd guessed the connection at some point. "Me too."

**

* * *

A**riadne made the turn into the neighborhood, and chose to make a left instead. She slowed down in front of the cedar shingled house with a bold, red 'Sold' sign outside of it. She leaned against the wheel and stared at it for a moment, waiting for the call that was on hold on her Bluetooth piece.

It could be a home, it _would_ be a home. She just wanted to make sure that Dom was safe to make it one, for the girls. They deserved that, all of them. Maybe even her, to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there was the sound of papers being shuffled, and then the plastic noise of the phone being moved, and the head of the Institute's security was back on the line. "Miss Maurer? Didn't you get the log? My email shows that it was sent successfully."

Ariadne stared, exasperated, at the phone, despite knowing full well the man could not see her. "I did, but I requested the swipe logs for two months, not just the highlights." I.T. had not been a problem whatsoever, but Security was being more than stingy with the info they were giving her, despite Mile's intervention.

"I'll get on that, but it might be some time."

Ariadne's head fell back onto the headrest for a moment. She took a steadying breath, thanked the man, and then hung up. If it came down to it, she'd ask a favor of Yusef and have him hack the system; his tech abilities were lesser known, but very appreciated by Ariadne and the team.

She then turned and drove past her own house, admiring it's color, and structure as she passed it; her neighbor Mrs. Carlton gave her a friendly wave, which she returned, before she parked the vehicle.

The seller was outside of the house, carrying a cardboard box down the front porch stairs. Ariadne quickly got out and jogged up to her, taking it from her. On the way to the moving truck, Mrs. Carlton waved her over to the fence to talk. Another neighbor jogged past, and greeted them.

She could get used to this, she could grow to like it. This was a little bit like being a normal person, things that would make her feel normal.

**

* * *

T**om Malone buttoned his suit, picked the silver briefcase up off of the ground with one hand, and wheeled the suitcase with the other. The limo driver came to meet him at the entrance of his building, quickly taking the suitcase from him, not making eye contact.

The behavior wasn't very abnormal. For the most part, the chauffeur service he used prided itself on discretion. It wasn't until he was about to get into the vehicle, and the driver opened the door, that he knew something was wrong; the man's shoulders were too drawn under his ill-fitting suit, and he was sweating bullets.

Malone never had a chance to question the man, because Dominic Cobb yanked him into the vehicle, and held him down despite his best attempt to wrestle out of his grip; Arthur jammed a needle into Malone's neck and helped to keep the man pinned down while the sedative worked. Fortunately, the man's increased heart rate only helped the sedative circulate in his system.

"Drive!" Cobb barked, and the driver slammed the door shut, and ran to do as he was asked.

Malone struggled against Cobb, who kept his arm around the man's grip until he started to weaken. Arthur helped to push him onto the other leather seat, where the man, just before his eyes closed, seemed to stare at Cobb with tremendous fear.

Good, Cobb thought fiercely. He ought to fear him. He ought to fear the man who wanted nothing more than to destroy Malone in the same manner he'd tried to destroy him.

**

* * *

T**here was a flurry of dark hair and peals of delighted laughter, and Eames emerged from all of it carrying two little excited children.

Ariadne padded into the room, hands on her hips, and surveyed the situation with false regret.

"What was I thinking, letting you take the girls for the overnight? They're going to be bouncing off of the walls when Cobb comes back, and they'll probably know how to hotwire a car."

Eames shrugged, and the children in his arms were quickly raised and dropped with the over-dramatic movement of his shoulders. "Kids ought to know that sort of stuff. I know Cobb was in his teens when he learned, you were too, right? Figures that children he made and you've raised would be purloining little prodigies." He wagged a finger. "And I'd work on pickpocketing before that."

She jerked a thumb in the direction of the garment bag by the front door. "That dress? I can return it. Miles would completely understand me backing out of the Winter Ball if it meant that the future of his grandchildren remained crime-free."

The man sighed and put the children down, and who obediently ran off to excitedly grab their backpacks as Ariadne asked. Eames eyes strayed to the bag.

"'Fraid your Cinderella moment might not take place, what with the weather they're predicting. Arthur told me he's not sure anything will be leaving D.C.."

"Arthur will be back here in no time, Eames. Safe and sound."

He shook his head and jammed his hands into his pockets. "You can't make that promise, Ariadne, no one can. I won't really feel at ease until he's back here." It was a moment of bare honesty, one that neither had ever indulged in with one another before, at least not to that degree. It surprised her a little.

She listened for the pounding of feet upstairs, and heard Florence wishing the girls a pleasant trip – Flor herself would be leaving for the gallery shortly. "Wasn't making it; sort of trying to reassure both of us at the same time, actually. Now, you have the emergency contact list, right? Do you want me to go over how to use the Epipen again or-"

He waved her concern away. "I have it completely under control, my dear. Caroline is allergic to Peanuts, while Phillipa is called 'Peanut', and I have ensured that none of the foods they will be eating will have them in it."

She nodded, assuaged. "Now if any plans change, I'll call and let you know. I might move a couple of boxes into the house if my flight is grounded, but I'd tell you before hand."

The children came bounding back down the stairs, overnight bags on their backs, prized stuffed animals in their arms. They had no idea what the adults were facing, that Ariadne had started carrying more than just her Tomcat when she was out with them, that their father was off to seek revenge and intel with their uncle, that Eames and Ariadne were worried sick over them. She wanted to keep it that way, at least for the time being. Parenting meant protection, not necessarily from the world at large, but from things such as this.

She dropped to her knees, taking the children by the hand, and went back over the ground and safety rules she had established with them. And then, she collected them into her arms, and held their small, fragile, vital bodies against hers for a moment. She kissed them both on cheek and set them loose.

Miles came to stand beside her as she waved Eames off.

Her phone rang, and she recognized the number as the one belonging to the house's seller. She picked it up.

"Miss Maurer? I need to ask you a favor."

**

* * *

H**is apartment was quiet, in the early morning; the building housed no families, and he was thankful for it when he could wake up and not have to hear a child screaming or cartoons blaring. Just peace and quiet.

Tom Malone went to get out of the bed, and finds he can't roll onto his back, because the arm that is sprawled out across the mattress is actually handcuffed to the bed frame, which is sturdier than the Ikea piece in his real apartment, and suddenly he remembers what's happened.

"Shit," he utters, than squirms to look over his shoulder when he hears footsteps behind him.

"That sounds about correct, Malone," says the dark-haired man. He has a Glock in his hand, and a stern look on his face. Arthur, Cobb's partner. The man he had sent his operative to California to follow, and accurately so.

Malone knows better than to feel threatened with a gun in his face, at least here. He feels his upper lip curl up into a snarl as he says "That gun is not much of a threat in a _dream_, Arthur." That's the thing with the Military recruits: they have morals, have rules. Cobol's own don't; they'll do what it takes, whatever it takes.

Arthur sits neatly on the edge of the bed, gestures to Malone's arm with the gun. "It would be if we sedated you, wouldn't it?"

He twists back around and sees the small indent mark on his arm, and the forming bruise there. Arthur's face is smooth, dangerous. He'd heard things about this man and what he is capable of in dreams. Meticulousness means details in dreams, like sedation keeping a person under, allowing for a slip into Limbo. It is too much to risk. Arthur stands when he sees submission on Malone's face.

"Good," he praises.

Malone is led, at gun point, into the other room. Here, the dream differs from the layout of his own apartment. Instead of the sunny little kitchenette living room, it's a room made of cement, with a grate in the center of the floor. Cobb is standing by a stainless steel table in the corner, and around the man's suited shoulder, Malone can make out the glimmer of tools. Arthur pushes him into the chair.

Malone knows about torture. Unfortunately for these two men, he knew all about torture in dreams, and had been one of the people who discovered the trick to tamping down pain, to shutting off the memories of sensation in a dream. He informs them of this.

Cobb simply shrugs. "Doesn't mean I can't try to prove you wrong."

Arthur pats Malone, now handcuffed to the chair, on the shoulder, then starts to exit the room, leaving through another door, into a storage area. It's some kind of library, with Cobol blue folders and DVDs, and a television in the corner. "I'll leave you to it, Cobb."

"You can't get any info from me," Malone vows, and stares Cobb straight in the eye. "You can't break me."

The man starts to draw the stainless steel table closer to the chair. It shrieks in protest against the cement floor, a teeth-jarring noise. He settles onto a stool that he draw from nowhere, and turns to Malone. It's very clinical; his dentists behaves this way before a routine cleaning.

"Oh, I can break you – your body at least. And Arthur is going to get the information in the mean time. You and I? Well, we're just going to keep one another company."

When he cuts off his first finger – damn Arthur's infamous specificity in dreams – it hurts like it would in real life, and Malone screams.

**

* * *

S**he looked around the empty house, could hear the echo of her feet on the hardwood floors, and crossed her arms across her chest. The house was a place of beginnings and endings, but in the end it was simply a house.

There was a knock at the door, and the silhouette of a woman against the frosted glass there. She went to cautiously answer it.

**

* * *

A**rthur scans quickly through the blue folders' tabs for personnel, hoping that a name pops out at him. It doesn't, so he starts to flip through them as he cues a DVD up.

In the other room, Cobb continues to take the man apart, piece by piece. Malone's cries are ignored by the other two inhabitants of the dream – the apartment had no way out or in, but there are people on the streets below, scrambling for an entrance. Arthur continues to flip through the files. He starts to backtrack when his mind registers that one of the faces is familiar.

"Arthur!" rings out Cobb's voice. He appears, stricken, in the doorway. "It's happening, like in surfacing; I'm...I'm picking up on things. It's Nancy, fucking _Nancy_, and she's been given permission to take out Ariadne and the kids. "

He flips open the folder, with a different name but the woman's face, at the same time; perfect timing.

Arthur has never, _ever_ seen Cobb look so frantic, his eyes so harried. Malone is sobbing quietly in the room behind Cobb."You going to be okay alone?" he asks, already guessing at what the Extractor wants him to do.

"Yeah." He's not convinced. The feral glint is not entirely gone from Cobb's eye, his frame is still tense with unreleased anger. "_Yes_, just – Jesus Christ, Arthur, _go_!"

Arthur thrusts a handful of files at Cobb, and puts the gun to his own temple.

**

* * *

N**ancy slowly stood from the body on the floor, and wiped the blood from her hands onto the paper towel. The bitch had put up quite a fight; she was slightly surprised. Screamed a lot, but put up a fight.

There were flashing lights, blue and red, out on the front yard. She made a hasty exit out the back, jogged the two blocks to her vehicle, drove off.

**

* * *

A**rthur sprinted through the airport, all the while hearing other travelers complaining that their later flights were canceled.

Eames picked up after one ring.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. In the background he could hear the children playing.

"Eames, I need you to get in the car with the girls, get Flor, and just...just drive for now, okay? I'll call when my flight lands. It's Nancy. Whatever you do, do _not_ call Yusef, and just, just stay safe, _please_."

His hands shook as he handed his identification to the security guard who met him at the gate. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to turn off your cellphone, seeing as we're holding the flight and we need to get you off the ground as soon as possible. The snow-"

"Yes, I'm aware," Arthur snapped, but turned back to his phone. "Have you heard from Ariadne? You need to call her, get her-"

"Sir," said the guard warningly, just as Eames answered.

"She left with Miles an hour ago, she even called to check in with me. You'll probably pass each other midair, darling."

Arthur sagged, and sighed. "Okay. Alright."

He snapped the phone shut and got on the plane.

**

* * *

M**alone, if he turns his head completely to the side, can see the Point Man's body on the floor. He looks to Cobb, confused. "But...the sedation."

Cobb turns back around to look at him. "It wore off just as we put you under, actually. It's a technique you started using a couple of years ago, too." He approaches the man again. "Three years ago, right? In the Agency, only, of course. Those are your testing grounds; can't waste your higher ranks in Cobol."

"So," Cobb says conversationally. "Are you ready to have this conversation in reality, or should we stay down here until I know _all_ of your secrets? You've got some good ones."

"How?" he manages to ask, despite pain and shock.

The uninjured man throws his hands up. "I guess Cobol was a little better at training me than I thought they were, Malone. I don't have an answer for you. But you," he asks while holding a scalpel in Malone's face, "you might have some for me. Because now I know about the accounts, what you had planned for them, and it's just like I thought: you're a two-faced little fuck. I know you were the one behind the kill order on Mal."

Cobb springs forward and slices at Malone's neck with the scalpel, and it stung white hot for a second before the man lurched forward in the metal chair, and his gasp echoed off of the empty construction site they were in.

**

* * *

T**he paper she was writing on was a mess of words, and arrows. It was not her typical, tidy sketching, but it was Ariadne's attempt to make sense of what she was reading in the logs. She was appreciative of the slightly larger seats in first class on the plane.

Yusef. Yusef was the only true outlier in the swipes, but at the time of the fifth floor swipe, a few weeks before Winston's death, he had been upstairs with the rest of the team, and drunk.

The medical orders, at the same time, were all in order, except for the inclusion of a new IV push order, with the actual medication being given left blank. It was Sonja's sign-on code, but it couldn't have been her, seeing as she had just swiped into the gym on the other side of the campus. The security cameras had proven this, her tall figure obvious on the camera.

But there was no camera on the stairwell. Ariadne had seen Nancy enter that way more than once. It had been why no one had seen her appear on the floor that day Ariadne had found her crying in Winston's room.

Winston.

The pen Ariadne was dropped onto the paper. "Fuck," she breathed. Miles looked up from his newspaper.

Nancy had given herself away, months ago, and she hadn't even picked up on it. _"Winston tried to do a One-Man and screwed up_" Nancy had said that day. Ariadne had been so busy breaking herself of the habit, learning to call it a 'solo', that she hadn't even picked up on the slip.

Nancy had sent Winston in, knowing full-well that he might not come out, but hoping he'd possibly be able to get the information for the accounts. It was why Mr. Charles had thought she was looking for more information, had tortured her even after she'd admitted to everything in Dominic's dream.

And all the while, Nancy had been trying to befriend all of them, date Yusef, worm her way into possibly getting a position on their team. Get herself within striking distance.

Miles looked over at the pad, and at the name Ariadne loudly circled with her pen. His eyes widened.

"How?" she demanded quietly, through gritted teeth. "How did she even get hired?"

Her mentor closed his eyes as he tried to recall the specifics. Miles sighed, defeated, and leaned back in his seat. "Her boyfriend was in charge of another building before he switched to us; he's the one that cleared her application."

Ariadne tipped her head against the plane window, feeling trapped. She couldn't call anyone, couldn't warn Cobb, or Eames, or Arthur, or Yusef until they landed. And Eames was first on the list, since he had the children and was in California. They were the first priority, the strongest card that Nancy and Cobol could use against Dom.

The captain came on over the loudspeakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be prepared for some slight turbulence," he said. "The winter wonderland we're landing in is causing us some issues. Actually, we're probably one of the last flights into D.C. this afternoon."

The young woman tapped her nervous fingers on her leg. Timing. It all came down to timing.

**

* * *

I**t would be an auxiliary parking lot, when it was finished. Tarps blew in the wind, plastic crackling, but no one was close enough to hear the sounds.

The man before him was beyond furious, and Malone knew it. He tried to reason with Cobb, tried to make him see the light. "If you hadn't decided to tip off DoD yourself, things would have been _fine_, Cobb."

Cobb looked at him incredulously. "You think it came down to me? The recruiters were too greedy, we were already under investigation. FATF was already looking into our accounts."

Malone leaned forward as far as the handcuffs would allow him. "We _knew_. That's why we went after you, all of you."

Cobb looked up from winding the I.V. line back up, his mask of stony apathy flickered. "All of us?"

Tom sat back in his chair, looking smug. "Do you really think you were the only one with accounts like that? We were _international, _Cobb. There were five of you. And each of you had been involved with Project Minotaur before you ended up as a liaison for Cobol. Five good little soldier that were easy to lock down. We couldn't get the money, but no one else could, either."

"So what was the plan? Wait a couple of years and wake us back up, expect that we forgot what you did?"

No use hiding the truth, not when he was hoping for death. "When you all woke up, believing the inceptions, it would be more than easy to exploit your guilt in some way or another...but Minotaur was too good. There was no foreseeable way to wake them, or get the information we needed."

Of course, none of the others were hidden as well as you; it took us until last year to track you down. Even then, we weren't sure. Ought to hand it to Arthur, he was always so careful about things like that, so concerned with...what was the word he always used? Specificity?"

Malone looked over to see what Cobb's reaction was to the information, but found the man was looking at his cellphone. He finally glanced over, as is just remembering Malone was in the chair. He held up the phone apologetically.

"Got a little distracted for a moment," he casually explained. "Trying to remember the personal number for my old super in the DoD. Figured they'd love to be able to take you in, alert the right people. It would make the U.S. look good in this."

Malone paled.

"What?"

Cobb shrugged, but continued to press buttons on his phone. "I guess I'll just call his home phone. It's a Saturday, so there's a chance he's there." He gave Malone a reassuring look. "I'll call your back office number, too. You know, the one for the Cobol office here in D.C.? The voice mail system you use to communicate? I figure, might as well let them know, so they can cancel any appointments you might have to with Maurer or anyone else."

"Please tell me you're going to kill me," wheezed Malone. He looked up to Cobb hopefully.

The standing man gritted his teeth, and settled his shoulders a little. If he could dream, he would of dreamed of that. This was the man who'd taken him away from his family, been instrumental in his wife's death, and was somehow involved in something going on back at home, some threat to his family.

"Cobol isn't like it used to be, Cobb," the handcuffed man explained. "The Agency is dissolved, Cobol is underground, and Ismene oversees training...and for God's sake, Cobb, if you have a shred of decency, you will shoot me now. She'll send one, she'll send an operative. She might only have half of an idea about what's going on, but she knows how to clean up her messes. You don't understand what monsters she's turning out, what they're capable of, what they will do to _me_."

Cobb turned to Malone, eyes hard and furious. "Is it any worse than what you did to me? What you made me believe? You strolled into my brain and planted that idea and you've spent the last two years living your life like it was _nothing_, you son of a bitch. You signed the missive for my wife's death, because you thought, what? I'd believe the inception? I'd come back and work for you?"

As he finished speaking he had put the gun to Malone's temple, but was appalled to see how relieved the seated man looked.

He could do it. He could pull the trigger right then and there. After all of the damage the man had done to him...two and half years fucking years, gone. Two and a half years that saw his wife murdered and his children growing without him. Cobb could take the thing that was most precious from him – his life- and easily. He was an Extractor, that's what he was trained to do, trained by Cobol.

But he was more than that – better than that.

He took a step backwards, bringing the gun down to his side with a sigh.

"You don't deserve death, Malone," he spat, and turned to leave the room. He was a phone call away from turning Malone in to the DoD. They'd be happy to take him off of his hands. They'd probably give him a minor sentence, since there wasn't much that he had done in reality, that was proveable. The multiple governing bodies that would demand him for trial would be a legal mess and he'd spend some time locked up in some low-security prison, vulnerable. If Cobol got to him after that, then so be it. Cobb could go home and be satisfied with that potentiality.

He turned stiffly towards the door, PASIV in hand, and started towards it. As he reached the doorway, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to make the call.

"Ismene's daughter...she still as good as she used to be?" called Malone. "Ariadne better be sleeping with one eye open, if the operative is going after her."

Cobb knew what he was doing – trying to instigate him, rile his anger. He wasn't as quick-tempered as he used to be. He wouldn't let this man know her location.

"Ismene is going to go for you where it hurts, Cobb. She wants you to lose everything. She wants you back...and the money. She started with Mal and she'll keep going. Your kids-"

Malone stopped when Cobb twisted back around, drawing the gun back out and aiming for Malone's chest. He strode back to the chair.

Tom Malone's face, contorted with pain as it wracked his body from a bullet to the kneecap, was not what he had imagined being an end result when he had gotten on the plane, but it would suffice.

He could still hear Malone's screams echoing off of the abandoned building's walls as he left, so he waited until he was outside to call the number of a DoD contact. When he hung up and got into the rental car waiting outside, he noticed the missed call from Arthur just as his phone died.

Timing, it all came down to timing. He chucked the phone into the passenger while swearing heavily, and raced back to the hotel radio was reporting that all the flights were grounded, and that people ought to stay put.

He switched to the secondary cell battery after he got dressed, and his phone rattled across the desk as the voice mail, texts and missed calls started to register. When it rang, he was already on his way to knock on Ariadne's door, knowing he had to let her know about Nancy.

It was Ariadne's new neighbor. "Mr. Cobb? It's about Ariadne. I think something's wrong, she might be hurt over here. You might want to come."

The fist that's been pounding at Ariadne's door stopped. Was this what all of his missed phone calls were about? "No, no Mrs. Carlton, you've got to be mistaken. Ariadne isn't supposed to be there."

"I was just talking to her this morning, Mr. Cobb. Over the fence. She was carrying a box."

Cobb's heart rate increased, and he could practically feel the adrenaline start to race through his system. If their plane had already been canceled, and Eames already had been watching the girls, then Ariadne would have been moving in.

Quickly, needing visual proof that she was alright and that this was somehow a giant misunderstanding, Cobb hurried down the hallway. He jammed the elevator's 'Down' button for all it was worth, continuing to hold it until it arrived. "Mrs. Carlton, were there any loud noises coming from the house earlier? Like popping or banging noises, or things breaking?" He was thankful there was still reception in the mirrored elevator.

"No, I know I didn't really hear anything...but then again I did have my television on a while ago, and it was a bit loud...oh dear," she breathed. "Someone is coming to my door."

"I'll stay on the phone, ma'am."

The elevator settled on the ground floor and the doors couldn't open quickly enough.

There was a male voice in the background, and the sound of a walkie talkie. "Mr. Cobb, I'm afraid I have to go speak to – what was your name again?"

"Detective Phelps, m'am. Homicide," came a slightly distant voice.

He shut his eyes and winced. "Call me, _please." _He gripped the phone tightly and exited the elevator, heading for the main lobby, already dialing Eames number as he did so.

Cobb wished he had a totem, or something, anything, to know for certain that this was reality...or hopefully, a dream. The blood pounding in his ears and tightness in his chest spoke to that, but he couldn't know for sure.

It had to be a mistake. It couldn't be Ariadne.

Malone said she had better be prepared.

Eames wasn't picking up. Cobb started to head towards the front lobby, where he'd hail a cab back to the airport, finagle a flight. He tried Ariadne's cell phone, and was falsely comforted for an instant by the sound of her voice before he realized that it was simply her voice mail. Arthur had not landed yet. He tried Miles next.

A cell phone started to ring near by, just as a achingly familiar voice called "Dominic!"

Standing next to a Board Member from the Institute's Brazilian site was Stephen Miles, reaching for his phone. And beside him...

Ariadne was wearing a cream dress, almost gold, and if Dom was still a devout Catholic, he would have thought she was something other than just a beautiful woman that he was so very glad to see. Her warm, brown eyes held his for a moment, and suddenly the lobby was too crowded, too loud.

Dominic Cobb forced himself to take controlled steps to reach them. Ariadne met him halfway.

**

* * *

A**rthur slid into the passenger seat, grabbed Eames' chin, and kissed him soundly before the British man could greet him.

Eames stared at him. Flor looked amused. The girls continued to play with their coloring books.

"Just drive," Arthur said, pulling out his cellphone, dialing Cobb's number. "I'll tell you about everything once we're safe."

On the highway, Arthur reaches across the center console and takes Eames' hand. The driver did not let his eyes stray from the road, but held on tightly.

**

* * *

H**e shouldn't have even been there, it was too open, too easy. Cobol had more than one operative, and if they had infiltrated the U.S. West Coast Institute site, there was no way to know if they had done the same at another site. Dominic Cobb was a walking target, and she wasn't just about to let anything happen to him.

Ariadne grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to walk back towards the elevators. "The kids are fine, they're with Eames," she said quickly when he started to open his mouth to speak. The last thing she wanted was for him to be unnecessarily worried for them; he was under enough stress without that. "He was on the phone with me when you called, but you hung up too quickly for either of us to pick up your call."

Dom started to shake his head, and say "I...", but he trailed off and sighed, pushing the button for the elevator with a self-depreciating expression that made her think that, maybe, he understood why she was herding him back they way he had come.

A small crowd exited the elevator, and they both got in; Dom pushed the button to close the doors, then the button for their floor, quickly. Suddenly, it was simply the two of them looking at one another in the elevator's mirrored doors, their reflections infinite behind them thanks to the mirrored walls as well.

"Eames has the kids, I know," he said quietly, seriously. "It was the rig in front of your house and Homicide coming over to question Mrs. Carlton that had me worried."

He turned to face her, instead of her image, and she knew enough to turn her face towards him. "I thought your flight was canceled, Ariadne. I thought-"

There was no time for this; Ariadne hated that she had to, but she bluntly said "It's Nancy. We think it's Nancy. Eames picked Flor up, and they're on their way to the airport to get Arthur. Once they do, they're driving up North for a spontaneous vacation." She looked down, bitterly. "She was a good woman, she didn't deserve to die like that."

"I found out from Malone about Nancy." Instantly, the man beside her grew sober. "Is Eames paying in cash for the hotel room?"

"Of course. And Miles gave Nancy the next few days off, to 'grieve for Winston properly'," she paraphrased with revulsion, unable to hide her disgust for the woman. "Stephen would have been a wonderful actor, I tell you. And I may have also called the hospital near Yusef's mother's house, and he may or may not have been on his way to the facility because he thought his mother was there when I called and explained the situation to him over the phone."

Cobb shook his head, the corners of his lips turning down. "Can't imagine he took that news very well."

Ariadne shrugged. "He agreed to meet up with Eames and the rest of them. I imagine that was better than getting shot or ending up in a coma, like her last boyfriend." That was too cold, too callous. She winced. "Sorry, that was rude."

A comforting hand was settled on her back. The bare skin that the dress revealed there felt like it was on fire under his touch, just has it had in the dream but sharper, more real.

Not the time. Not the place.

"Stress," Cobb muttered and looked over at the panel displaying the floor numbers, thinking. "We're stuck here for now, aren't we?"

She gave him a curt nod. "Until we hear from Saito's flight crew, yes. Blizzard is grounding everything."

Ariadne let them both into her hotel room when they reached the floor. Together, they thoroughly checked the room for bugs, resorting to detector Ariadne had packed in her suitcase; it was clean, and so they settled into the chairs at the desk.

While she slipped her heels off, she related what she'd learned from the swipe logs, and from the computer's log of medical orders, how she put it all together, only after she remembered what Mr. Charles had said to her. The mention of the projection's name caused Dom to look displeased.

"Doesn't lessen what I did to you."

"I already told you that I don't hold you at fault for Mr. Charles. Tell me, what happened with Malone, Dom?"

He explained all of it, not even sparing her the news of her mother and the plans to overthrow her. After he finished, she sighed, and rose from the table. "I think this calls for coffee," she muttered, and grabbed a small bag of grinds from her bag before setting about making two cup's worth. The process allowed her to focus on something, _do_ something.

Ariadne handed him a cup while she poured herself the next one. "This means she's vulnerable, then. And that, in turn, is probably making her more than a little paranoid."

"Malone said that she wants me, and the money...we already have two bodies to prove he's correct."

She sat back down with the second cup, a little more than surprised when he reached out to take it from her, gently. He'd pushed the first cup in front of her before making up the second cup.

"I think I made it right."

Settling back in her chair as she took a sip – the coffee was exactly the way she usually made it for herself – she tried to consider which step to take next, how Cobol might react, and had to let out a small, caustic laugh when she realized how appropriate Cobb's comment had been a few days before. "This really is a fucked up chess game."

He appeared to be caught up in similar thoughts. "We're just going to have to wait to see what Nancy does. If she's smart, she'll know we caught on. We'd be able to find where your mother is when she runs back."

Ariadne openly snorted at the concept. "Cobol, Cobb. She's trained to follow her orders. Nancy might just try to take whatever chance she can. I think, until January at least, you should lay low, and make sure one of us is always with you...maybe you should consider leaving the area just for the time being. It would give us time to work with the right people, get DoD involved."

The man across from her had already starting talking over her. "The buddy system?" Cobb balked. The cup was all but slammed down onto the desk's surface. "Ariadne, I'm not _hiding_, not anymore. They took enough time away from me. Fine, I'll agree to making sure you, or Arthur is around, but I'm not leaving."

Her mouth thinned on its own accord, and before she could reply he continued. "Don't. I know you don't agree, but this is..." He lost his words, and his shoulders rose and fell with the force of his exhalation.

Then, he stood suddenly, pacing the room slightly, barely contained frustration evident. As he dragged a hand through his hair, he declared "This is my life, and my family, and I'm not afraid to protect it. So we know she'll come after me? Fine. Let her. I'll be the bait, we'll let her think she's got a chance. With you and Arthur, and Yusef, and Eames? We've got this covered. Now, is the coffee right or not?"

She stared at him, still lurching from the dramatic veer that the conversation just took. "It's right," she finally answered, but abandoned the cup to stand before him. "But I need you to calm down, Dom. I know you're feeling a little caged right now, but getting this worked up while there isn't much we can do isn't going to fix anything."

He was like her, when it came to situations like this; left to themselves, they would take hold of a situation and their actions would had little regard for their own safety. She couldn't let him do that, not now. Not ever.

It was clear that the confusion and miscommunication earlier had rattled him. Ariadne took another step closer, and tried to run a soothing hand through his hair. The action was novel to her; comforting the children was one thing, but adults were something else entirely. She rarely touched anyone outside of DreamShare. Dom leaned forward, allowing her to rake her fingers through his hair properly, smooth it back as it had been before.

He really did look wonderful in the suit. The blue handkerchief folded in his breast pocket roughly matched the shade of his eyes, drawing attention to the entrancing irises. Cobb took a small step closer, until their feet touched, patent leather to bare skin. Their proximity, the understanding of what had happened, what could have happened, made her ache for him, and for once she couldn't just push those feelings to the side.

She wanted him – not just his body but a 'him' that encompassed that aspect and more. It wasn't love; her understanding of the concept, romantically, was still being woven together into something tangible, something that maybe someday she'd be able to run her fingers over, and then determine if it matched the feel of his skin, of his lips, as her fingers were cataloging those textures now. His eyes sluggishly closed, and he inhaled sharply as the tips of her fingers grazed his mouth.

"I can't even begin to explain what I felt when your neighbor called me," he breathed, his lips moving under her fingers. "What I thought I'd lost the chance to – I ...when I saw you downstairs, I wondered for a second if I was dreaming."

"I promise," she assured him, finding her mouth dry, her heart increasing its rate as he brought hands up to cup her face. "I promise you're not."

Totems weren't real, they didn't exist anywhere but in the dream Dom had built and then destroyed, and so the only real way to know for sure was through touch and taste; it was the excuse she gave herself initially for kissing him.

He drew her towards him, his large, firm hand pressing her close, splayed fingers on the exposed expanse of her back. She pulled her head back enough to take a shaking breath, to spout an excuse.

"I'm sorry. I've pushed you away and here I am-" He cut her off first with a shockingly raw look, and then his hoarse voice.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to apologize, Ariadne?" he asked, caressing her name and face at the same time. "After what just happened, after what I feared...I don't want to..."

She let her head rest against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. "Me neither," she admitted and then realized the truth in the words. She brought her head up, and brown met blue. "Me neither."

Things would never be easy; that was life, and theirs was definitely no exception. Putting off something that they both wanted, both needed, meant leaving themselves open to the chance that they never had another opportunity at it. They knew full well about the importance of timing, had staked their lives on it in the past.

Ariadne Maurer was a thief, and a liar and despite her best efforts otherwise, she knew she had caused a few deaths. She knew she was more than that, but Dominic Cobb made her _feel_ like she was more than that.

It was more than just clothing that they took off one another, it was more than just skin that touched. There was more than just sensation in the reverent way his hands slid along the planes of her body. He made her feel human, and it shook her to her very core.

Greek mythology is filled with stories of transformation, although Ariadne in the myth never went through one.

In D.C., however, laying in the bed was a woman where there had been a weapon.

**

* * *

Playlist:**

**Ariadne drives to the new neighborhood: **Float On (Modest Mouse cover) – Bye Bye Blackbird

**Malone is kidnapped, wakes up in the dream:** Gary Numan – Crazier

**Ariadne on the plane: **Silversun Pickups – Panic Switch

**In Ariadne's hotel room: **Martin Grech - Tonight


	12. Chapter 11

**T**he phone conversation was over quickly, and it left them with the need to be ready quickly. Ariadne hated to admit she was slightly reluctant to comply. Before the phone rang, his face had been relaxed in sleep, the wrinkles lessened; Dom was starting to wake beside her, judging by furrow deepening between his eyebrows and the hand that was tracing its way up her leg.

She sighed but shifted under the sheet to face him, running light fingers over Dom's cheek and jaw, over the stubble there. He groaned and pulled her closer, but finally opened his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Was that our ride?" he asked, voice half muffled by the pillow, and she nodded. Dom groaned and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him thanks to his arms around her. "I'm sleeping on the plane. Didn't get much of it last night."

Ariadne smiled softly, and tried to suppress the shiver that the finger being dragged up her spine caused. Dom chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Are we going to talk about this?" he asked, and she could feel his voice rumble through her as well.

She brought her head up and looked at him. Was this a one-time deal? She didn't want it to be, but she also wasn't about to jump into a relationship. "Eventually. But right now, you know where we need to focus our attention."

His head fell back, and her head dipped when he huffed. "The sooner this is over, the better."

"By 'this', I hope you don't just mean Nancy, but Cobol and my mother as well"she asked while rolling off of him and sitting up. He did the same, but seemed less than happy about what she'd said. "I'm serious, Dom. If my mother wants you back, she'll keep trying, or worse: another Malone will take over and come after you. Let's end this."

The Architect was more than aware that when she padded over to her suitcase to start dressing, he was watching her.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, "for what you're mother is doing. I can't imagine how you feel right now."

"About what: her putting a hit out on me or her trying to get you back?"she asked, feeling her eyebrows rise. She turned, and looked up from zipping her pants up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly on his hands. "It surprises me she'd go that far, but I'm not upset. I'm angry she's going after you and the kids – livid really. We take her out and that threat to our family is gone."

Distractedly, she leaned over the dresser to put her watch back on, and Dom silently came to stand behind her. He pressed a kiss to her sweater-clad shoulder, running lingering hands down her shoulders and arms. Desire flared low in her belly when she looked up and made eye contact with him in the mirror.

"Can I admit that I find your angry, protective streak a turn on?" he whispered into her ear. Hands slipped under the hem of her sweater and brushed along the flesh of her abdomen.

Ariadne twisted to face him. "Stop trying to distract me," she demanded, "so I can go get your clothes from your room. Miles probably already figured out what happened last night, but wearing that suit you wore last night is far too obvious."

**

* * *

M**iles chided Dom more than once for looking so anxious for Eames to arrive with the children. He wouldn't be happy, couldn't feel settled, until they were back inside the house.

Arthur's BMW pulled into the driveway, and Dom rushed to meet the children in the garage. Phillipa all but flew into his arms.

"You came back!" she cried out, happily. Caroline wrapped an arm around his leg until he was able to get her into his arms as well. He hadn't thought of their reaction when he had left, and guilt settled in his gut.

"Of course I did, sweetheart," he assured her. "Thank you, to both of you," he said to the two men who entered the garage. Flor slipped past them and into the house to go greet her lover.

Eames mussed Caroline's hair up, and she protested loudly. "We had fun, I think," he replied, cheerily.

Arthur gestured for all of them to go into the house; the Point Man obviously did not like the vulnerability of standing in the open garage. "There weren't any obvious tails, but we kept a pretty low-profile," he reported as they climbed the steps into the house. Cobb hit the button for the garage's door to lower, and Arthur seemed a little more at ease when he saw he locked the door, anyway. "I take it everything worked out in D.C.?" There was apprehension in his partner's eyes; he had left unsure as to what exactly Cobb was going to do.

"Got a call from my old super; Malone was picked up, and after they treated him for gunshot wound to the knee, they took him into custody. Their phone has been ringing nonstop since then; they found out across the pond and now they're trying to extradite him to about half a dozen countries for trial."

Arthur was relieved, and nodded slowly, understanding. "It leaves him open to an attack."

Cobb put the girls down to run after their grandfather, who was calling from the other room. He shrugged as he stood, and jammed his hands into his sweatshirt. "Not my problem anymore," he responded, and meant it.

Eames handed the matching backpacks to Cobb, and then turned to Arthur. "Well, we're off, then," he declared, and started back out the door. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. The British man looked from the hand to Arthur. "What?"

"Eames and I are going to be off the grid for the next week," said the Point Man, giving Eames a cryptic look. "But if you need me for anything, I will have my cell with me."

Eames snorted. "Honestly, it had better be a _truly_ dire circumstance. I mean, you've got Ariadne here. Give the two of you a can opener and a nail file and you could probably topple a small country's government, together. It's not like we're leaving you-"

"-The point is," said Arthur, forcibly talking over the other man. "The point is that if you need me, I will here in a heartbeat, but Eames and I are incommunicado, should anyone else ask."

Cobb bobbed his head. He'd already asked too much of Arthur, so he could not fault him. "Only call if there's a true emergency, got it. Enjoy your vacation."

The pair turned to leave just as Ariadne's boots were heard on the front porch. Cobb could make out her shape in the glass, and opened the door before she even got her keys out. It took her slightly by surprise.

"Hi," he said, unable to stop the smile spreading on his face. Her cheeks were slightly red from the cold and wind, and her hair was mussed by the latter, but in some ways, it reminded him of her appearance just that morning.

"Hello," she said, and her lips formed a smile of their own. She looked a little tired, but more than happy to be back home.

The last few hours hadn't been awkward between them; Miles had made a few jokes when they initially got onto the private jet, but had been perfectly serious with them once they started to go over plans for security upon their return to California. Ariadne had to meet at the police headquarters in their new town, to answer a few questions, and had assured Cobb she'd be back as quickly as possible.

The lingering kiss she had given him on her way out the door had been an assurance of another kind.

Eames was positively smug as he passed the pair; of course he had read their body language, and judging from the look of satisfaction on his face, he had read it correctly. He patted Ariadne on the shoulder. "Oh, we'll leave you two be, now," he half-sung. Arthur, frowning, followed.

The girls came running in, loudly greeting the woman. Instantly, the exhaustion on her face was erased, replaced only by a look of sheer happiness. She sat on the stairs and listened to the girls chatter about their impromptu vacation, which seemed to involve a pool and a bathtub full of ice cubes, as well as Arthur being upset with Eames about the latter. Cobb sat down next to her to hear that story.

Miles called the girls into the other room for lunch, and Dom flashed their grandfather an appreciative look before the older man herded the children into the other room. Beside him, Ariadne tried to stifle a yawn, in vain.

He allowed his back to rest against the stairs. "Still tired?"

She nodded. "I'd say it's jet lag, but it honestly wasn't that long of a flight. Lack of sleep and stress, I think."

Her tense shoulders loosened underneath his hand on her back, rubbing circles there. "You could take a nap," he suggested. "I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. Hate to say it but Eames and Arthur just told me they're going to be M.I.A. for the next few days, so you're stuck with me."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "What a terrible hardship," she sarcastically mourned, then rubbed at her eyes, somber. "The funeral is in a few days, her mother called me while I was driving. I'm going to go – I have to go. It's my fault she's dead."

Instantly, Cobb was sitting up, hand on her leg. "Ariadne, _Nancy_ killed her, not you. You can't carry that unnecessary guilt with you, not right now. It will only distract you."

He saw her laugh, but only heard the quick intake of breath. "Jesus, when did we switch roles?" she asked.

"Can't give you an answer to that one."

"Figured." She yawned again, and Cobb stood up, helping her to stand as well.

"I really think you ought to have a lie-down, Ariadne. You've been running yourself into the ground since the surfacing, and it needs to stop."

"I'm no good to anyone tired," she agreed, but he shook his head. That wasn't why he was saying it.

"Sleep. Sleep for both of us," he requested. He was going to go start pulling the rest of the Christmas decorations from the attic, as a form of apology for having to disrupt Flor's plans the day before. He was looking forward to a night of sore, pulled muscles and congestion caused by dust.

"We'll talk later?" she asked, eyes assuring him she meant it.

"Of course," he assured her. Dom realized he had never let go from helping her up, so he brought their enjoined hands up to his lips, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm serious, please go sleep a little."

Ariadne huffed, eyes cast upward. "So pushy," she chided, before turning and walking towards her room. Dom watched her form until it disappeared behind her bedroom door. There was a casualness, to their interactions; it had been there prior to Caroline's birthday, and he was glad that it was back, but he also did not want to rush things and end up seeing her walk away again.

**

* * *

A**rthur looked over at Eames, who was halfway between the front and back seats. "Is there a reason you're stretching like that?"

Eames gave him a coy smile. "Want to be warmed up for later, of course," he said breezily. Arthur fought the urge to blush or frown. "Truth be told, I was grabbing this."

The British man grabbed a thin, large square package from the backseat. Arthur glanced over quickly and then back at the road.

"Is that a 45?" he asked, eyebrows knitted together.

"Not the sort you're used to, but yes. Open it."

"I'd like to get us home safely, Eames. Otherwise, we won't get to do any of the things we planned, and that was be quite a shame."

Eames stared at the driver, a little taken aback. There was a small, pleased smile forming on the man's face. Eames grabbed the steering wheel.

"What the hell do you think-"

"-It's a straight road," Eames cut him off, dismissively. "I'll watch. Now, open it."

Arthur slid a finger under the flap, unwrapping the record as efficiently as possible. He gawked at what was now in his lap.

"Yes, darling it's a first pressing, yes, it's in almost mint condition, and no, I didn't steal it. The idea didn't even occur to me until _after_, and I think that says a lot about what sort of influence you've had on me," said Eames as Arthur took the wheel once more. The passenger watched him, an indulgent smile on his face contrasting with the sharpness of his eyes.

Arthur appeared speechless for a moment. Then, suddenly, he turned the car's steering wheel and started to gracefully navigate the car to the shoulder of the road, avoiding cars that were honking.

"What exactly do you think-"

Arthur leaned over and kissed him, and the fact that he flicked the hazards on without even looking registered with Eames as being far too attractive to him.

Both breathless and glassy eyed, they pulled back, and settled into their seats. Arthur ran a hand over his hair, and smoothed it. "Asshole," he lightly chastised. "I can't be doing this while we're on the road."

Eames laughed and leaned close, pressing a kiss to Arthur's neck, happy to see it made the man shiver. "Then drive faster, Point Man."

**

* * *

A**riadne, sitting cross legged on her bed, looked up from her laptop to see Dom standing in her doorway - rather, holding himself up in it.

"Is this why you told me to sleep for both of us, earlier?" she asked. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "You look like crap, Dom, you shouldn't push yourself so hard."

The Miles had gone to sleep. Cobb had the baby monitor in his hand. The house was quiet and really, Ariadne couldn't imagine going to sleep without him beside her. She bit her lip and patted the space on the bed next to her.

He crawled onto it; there was nothing seductive about it, just the movements of a tired man, and yet it was far more endearing to Ariadne than anything else could be. It was a vulnerability, in a way, and he was allowing her to see it. Propping his head on his arms, he twisted his head so he could look at her.

"What are you doing?"he asked, his voice a low, sleepy rumble.

She swiveled the laptop so he could see."Just double checking to make sure Security followed orders and stripped Nancy's swipe access. Yusef has a new swipe card, so everything should be fine."

"'Should be' rarely is," countered Dom. "Hate to be an pessimist but..." he exhaled heavily, but relaxed when Ariadne absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back.

Ariadne shut the laptop and slipped from the bed to put it on her desk. When she turned around, Cobb was on the edge of the bed, sitting up. "So are we talking about last night?"

She sat next to him. "Is there really that much to talk about? I think we've both established that we're attracted to one another, but we both want to be careful, for the sake of the girls."

There was no anxiety while she spoke, simply a comfortable feeling of being close to someone she cared for, could easily share things with. Dom put a hand on her knee. "And us," he amended. "But at the same time I don't want us to lose a chance if we're presented it. I - Christ, you're amazing, and I want you, want this."

She felt the easy, heavy weight of his hand at the base of her skull, drawing her face and lips closer to him, and let him kiss her. His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips, and they parted, easily. The hand on her knee started to move upward. She smiled as their lips parted, felt him doing the same against her neck, as he held her close. "Then I guess there isn't much to discuss," he whispered, and the tone of his voice warmed her from the inside.

Ariadne stood first, and helped him to his feet, helped to pull the sweatshirt off of him, rising on her feet to kiss him once more. The heat from his body, now only blocked by a thin undershirt, washed over her, enveloped her.

"I'm working on the paunch," he promised, "just taking some time."

"That's not paunch, and you were comatose for two and a half years," she corrected him. As he focused his cobalt blue eyes on the row of buttons down the front of her shirt, and his fingers started to slip the fabric open, she said warning, "But I'm giving you a year, Mr. Cobb."

He laughed, and she sighed when he closed the space between them, kissing her again.

He mumbled something against her lips.

"What?" she asked, removing her mouth from his by only a fraction.

He cleared his throat, and took a step back. Dom eyed her, seriously. "I said 'May I take you to dinner?'; it occurred to me earlier that we haven't actually done that, yet. A date. Not in reality, and that one time with the coffee was already ruled out for the count."

Ariadne couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "Of course," she replied as if it were obvious. "Let's just wait until after this is over, though. I want us to be able to sit in a restaurant and not have to worry about someone watching one of us through their cross hairs." She pulled him onto the bed by tugging on his undershirt, and he fell onto it, catching himself from landing on her.

"So you still want to-"

Frustration was building in her, almost as much as desire. She gave him an exasperated look. "Dom, when have you ever known me to show even the slightest regard for normalcy? This isn't ideal but..." Ariadne trailed off, her eyes falling to his firm lips, her lips pushed up to meet them at the same time her hips mimicked the action. "I've never cared much for propriety."

"Oh, good." Relief bringing a smile to his face, Dom proceeded to kiss a trail down Ariadne's stomach.

This was something she could get used to, and happily so.

**

* * *

A**rthur looked over at his...boyfriend? Lover? They hadn't really discussed terms, as there had been no use for them, between them, for the length of time they had spent in Eames' apartment. Now, they stood outside the Institute's clinic. Christmas music floated from an open window. Eames actually appeared hesitant, and Arthur slipped a hand around his back, reassuringly. They started to walk inside.

It had been four blissful days without any interruption, from anyone, not even Cobb. They found him, and Ariadne, who was trying to seat the girls, who were busy playing with antler headbands and red foam noses, by the two story tree for a picture. Cobb looked up from fiddling with the camera when he became aware of the two men were approaching. He grinned, broadly.

Arthur was more than willing to bet that Eames' earlier observation – that it was very much a possibility that Cobb was very busy getting laid – was probably more true than he originally thought. And to be perfectly honest, the idea that his best friend was having a relationship with his ex-girlfriend was not troubling in the slightest; actually he was sort of relieved.

"How's it going?" asked Cobb. They stood next to him and watched the woman coaxing the girls to sit for the picture instead of trying to open the presents under the tree.

"Uncle Eames!" cried Caroline, and both she and her older sister turned to face the man, happily. Ariadne turned from her spot kneeling beside the children to look up.

Cobb snapped the picture, and Ariadne glared. "You're cropping me out," she groused, fighting a smile even as Cobb helped her to stand up. She greeted the pair with a knowing smile. "Happy to see you two decided to join us."

"Merry early Christmas," said Arthur, giving her a one-armed hug. He was a little surprised when she laughed and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas," she replied, and then gave Eames a hug as well. Eames shared a look with Arthur.

"I think we're all very happy people, for very good reasons," declared the Brit, and then stepped past the three to go squat in front of the girls and talk to them.

Arthur slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, a slightly nervous habit, and looked around. "Any trouble?" he asked.

Cobb shook his head. "None," he replied. "No signs of her, other then when she called to thank us for the condolence basket."

Ariadne all but snarled. "Miles; choice, not us."

"You think she'll try anything here?" he asked, and looked around. While throwing the party in the Clinic building's first floor meant everyone on the campus could come, it also meant _everyone on the campus could come_.

The pair seemed doubtful. "She's still supposed to be grieving and making arrangements, and showing up to a party like this would be a little out of character," Cobb rationalized. "But security knows to keep an eye out."

Miles and Flor herded the girls towards the line of other children waiting to talk to Mike from Medical Records, dressed as Santa. Everything was so happy, so normal. Arthur was happy that his partner was able to have this, hadn't gone too far that day in D.C.. The dirty-blond haired man must have been thinking about something similar, because he swallowed thickly. Cobb handed Ariadne the camera and gestured for the door. "I'm just going to get a little air," he said. She gave him a small smile, which he returned, and then he left.

"So," Eames drawled, and a sly grin grew on his face as he turned to the woman. "How did _you _spend the last week?"

**

* * *

Y**usef turned to make sure his car was locked, thrusting the remote in the direction of the car until it started to chirp several time.

"You always did that."

He turned, slowly, with fear, to see Nancy standing in front of him, a gun pointed at him. She shook her head. "You had all of these little habits, Yusef, and this was one of the ones that I could not _stand_."

Yusef brought his hands up, and tried to see where the closest security camera was. His cellphone was in his pocket, and there was no way to reach it without her seeing.

"Oh shit," he muttered, and then repeated it when he saw that the woman's white pea-coat had a small spattering of red on it, when she approached.

"That would be what happened to security," she assured him. "And I can do the same with you, if I need to. Now come with me."

**

* * *

C**obb was leaning against railing, hunched over something, and she heard the metallic flicking just as he turned to see who was closing the roof's door. Miles had taken the children home with Flor, who'd get them to bed, and Ariadne had lost Dom while she was talking with a coworker from her original building. She'd found out from Arthur that he had gone up to the roof, and was now standing before her with a lighter and a cigarette.

"Dom," she disapprovingly said as he exhaled with a slight cough.

"It's Christmas...sort of."

"Exactly," she chastised, and came to lean against the railing beside him. She found herself saying 'Santa is watching, Dominic Cobb.'

He twisted to face her, arms crossed, hip against the railing. A crooked grin broke out across his face, and she couldn't help but smile back at him. Ariadne winced and ducked her head. "I _cannot_ believe I just said that."

"Comes with the territory of raising children, I think," he said. Then the man took a small step closer, sliding against the railing until the pair was almost touching. Ariadne glanced nervously at the door, to see if anyone was looking – somewhat a paranoid move seeing as most people didn't have swipe access to roof. His mouth brushed against her ear, and he put a hand on her hip. "And if that really were the case, what would he say about what we did last night, or that thing you did with your tongue?"

She shook her head, refused to acknowledge the warmth of the blush on her cheeks.

Dom opened his mouth to say something, but her phone rang.

"Enjoy your cigarette," she said, pushing past him. She pressed a kiss to his neck and whispered "You're showering to get that smell off of you before you come to bed tonight."

As she picked up the phone and headed for the door, as she heard him laugh.

**

* * *

T**here was the sound of other staircase's door opening, and Cobb turned to see who it was.

He stood up straight when he saw Nancy.

"Nancy, how are you?" he asked. She shrugged and came to stand next to him. "We're all thinking about you here."

"That's nice, Cobb," she said, giving him a weak smile. "Now why don't we cut the bullshit, and you come with me?" She pressed the nose of the gun into his ribs. "And don't try anything; I know where you live, and I could make sure something very, terribly nasty happens to them, faster than you can think."

She ripped the cigarette from his fingers, and stomped it out, while digging the gun in, bruising him.

"Unhealthy, Cobb. You really ought to quit."

* * *

"**S**orry," she said, seeing that it was Miles who was calling. "I was on the roof."

"Go check on security," he demanded. "I just got back from dropping Flor and the children back off at home, and I cannot get into the parking lot. They're not answering their phone. I just got of the phone with Ralph, but you're younger and will inevitably get there faster than him, the lazy arse."

Ariadne took the stairs down to security's floor, and swiped herself in. The floor was quiet, and she started towards the back corner suite where the night guard would normally sit with the security cam feeds. The head of security, still wearing a red reindeer nose, came out of the elevator and waved at Ariadne.

"Mr. Miles called. It's John, he probably stepped out for a light or fell asleep," he excused, carelessly, and caused Ariadne to frown.

"That's not very comforting, Ralph," she said, and pushed the door open.

The older man swept past her to feel for a pulse, although she could already see, from the amount of blood, that it was pointless. She slipped the Tomcat out of her purse and tapped Ralph on the shoulder. "Ralph, I need you to call the ambulance," she said, eyes scanning the cams for a sign of Nancy. The older man, swearing under his shaking breath, dialed the phone with slippery fingers.

She didn't find her, but scanned the swipe logs. Yusef's new card, obviously now coded for security clearance, showed on the roof and seventh floor. She dialed as she stalked towards the door.

"Arthur, seventh floor. Stairs." She climbed the flights of stairs and swiped herself in, carefully opening the door.

She crept along the hallway, checking in the exam rooms as she went. The floor was cold, sterile. The air conditioner kept it at its chilly temperature.

She heard someone wheezing, and carefully looked around the corner, scanning with the gun. Yusef was on the floor, clutching at his leg. The brunette woman signaled for him to remain quiet.

"What happened?" she whispered, trying to help him up, only to find that Nancy had handcuffed him to a locked cabinet.

"She brought me up here, and took my key. And then shot me in the leg for good measure, the crazy bitch."

The wound was minor, a clean shot. Ariadne grabbed some gauze and pressed it against his leg. "Dom?" she asked, as he took it the bandages from her. He jerked his head towards the glass full-length windows that separated the exam rooms. Beneath the blinds, she could make out a two sets of feet, one pair male and the other female, and the silver flash of a PASIV case.

"Arthur is on his way," she said assured him, then started towards Dom.

In the adjoining room, Cobb lay on the exam table, the I.V. line dark with the compound in it. Nancy was hunched over the device, finishing an adjustment to her own canister.

"One more step," declared Ariadne. She didn't have to finish the threat, because Nancy looked up from the PASIV.

"God," she laughed, tilting her blond head to the side slightly. "You look _freakishly_ like her when you've got that face going."

Ariadne slipped the safety off on the Tomcat, never taking her eyes off of the woman. "Nancy, I don't know what Malone promised you, but-"

"-Oh stop it," the woman spat, rising from the floor angrily. "Don't try that crap with me. Malone is _dead_; your mother saw to that. What are you going to say? 'You don't know what they're capable of?' I _know._ I'm climbing the ranks. I've got the house and the car. _I_ don't quit, I stuck with Cobol." And then Nancy turned and showed that she had a gun pointed at Cobb. Safety still on, but it would only take a second.

Ariadne felt her heart sink.

"You realize what's going to happen if you go under with him, correct? He will_ destroy_ you; he'll lock you in there. Cobb won't be able to control it," she lied. "Are you willing to end up like Winston?"

At this, Nancy hesitated, a split second where her eyes traveled to the man, as if sizing him up. Ariadne took her chance.

She pushed Nancy against the counter, slamming the woman's hand against the cabinet. Nancy let out a surprised scream of pain and dropped the metal. Even as she tried to keep Nancy in place with one arm Ariadne reached for the sound system and hit play, hoping the cue music would assure Cobb, if he needed it, that he was dreaming in there.

Recovering, Nancy kneed Ariadne in the gut, and went for the gun.

The dark haired woman swung around. The other woman was leaning against the glass window that separated the clinic rooms, reaching for the Glock.

It was her life. It was Cobb's. Yusef was laying shot in the other room. Ariadne pulled the trigger.

Nancy ducked, and the glass broke. Ignoring the broken shard, she rolled into the other room, grabbing the gun and trying to aim for Ariadne, but she was already careening into her, and they both dropped their weapons. Nancy growled and grabbed at Ariadne's neck with claw-like fingers.

The Cobol woman had half a foot on her, and heels that added to this; hands around her throat, she propelled Ariadne back until she ended up on the examination table. Her feet slipping out from under her as Nancy squeezed and pressed down on her, the prepped tray rattled and squeaked somewhere to her side.

In the other room, she heard Bocelli singing through the speakers.

"I respect you," seethed Nancy, "I do, but I've got orders."

Ariadne slipped her hand onto tray beside her, tried to steady her breathing even as the woman above her tried to choke it out of her.

Not like this. Never like this. This was not how she was going out. She was tired of this.

A syringe. There was a syringe in her grasp. Shaking fingertips were trying to pry the safety cap off, not nick herself with the sedative.

She let herself relax in the woman's grip for an instant, and then surged up, clenching abdominal muscles to do so, driving the sedative into the woman's arm and pressing down on the plunger. It caused Nancy to take a step back.

And then they both stared at the syringe.

It wasn't a sedative. It was the Serum.

Nancy yanked the thing out of her arm, taking faltering steps backward until she was leaning against the frame of the full-length window. She nearly tripped over her own gun. Ariadne ended up against this room's side counter.

"Do you know what you've done?" she said, staring, horrified, at the needle in between her shaking fingers. It was empty; she couldn't turn around and stab Ariadne with it and do any damage. A little dizzy, Ariadne tried to stand up. Nancy threw it at her.

For someone whose life was DreamShare, Ariadne might as well have killed her.

She tried to explain. "I honestly didn't-"

The timer on Nancy's watch went off, and as if on cue, Ariadne could hear the distinct sound of Cobb waking from sleep. She twisted to look and see that he was alright.

The sound of the gunshot registered before the understanding that _she_ was the one who was shot. Ariadne tried to keep herself up, reach for a weapon, something to defend herself with. The pain started to flare, icy hot, and she felt herself falter and try to place a balancing hand on the side counter.

Nancy's eyes were wide open, angry, feral, fearful – not because she had shot her, she knew, but because her stability had been ripped away – and Ariadne couldn't see a way to escape the second bullet about to leave the woman's gun.

Another gunshot.

A body fell.

"Oh, shit," Yusef uttered, barely holding himself off of the floor, Ariadne's gun in his grip.

Ariadne threw the syringe away from her in the direction of the sharps bin, and then slipped down along the cabinets. The room was starting to spin, and she tried to keep pressure on her own wound despite knowing it wasn't going to work.

"Ariadne!" barked Dom. It stung too much to turn and look, but there was the sound of glass crunching, and then he repeated her name, much closer.

Suddenly, his face was in front of hers. "I'm here honey," he said, reassuringly. She nodded, dumbly, and hissed when he scrambled to reach into a drawer above them and grabbed out gauze and pressed it against the wound. He looked over his shoulder at Yusef. "You okay?"

Yusef was still obviously very shaken. "My girlfriend just shot me in the leg, what do you think?"

She felt the lethargy and chills gradually starting. Ariadne found it hard to reopen her eyes when she blinked.

"Sweetheart, stay with me, stay awake," whispered Dom. With his free hand, he wiped the strands of hair that were sticking to her face. She reached her own hand out, with some effort and shaking, and numbly felt at his face. It was warm, beneath her chilled fingers. The texture of his skin was one she had spent the last week memorizing, comparing, knowing, already, what it was to her, what it would always be, despite damage or years.

She'd do it all over, _all_ of it. The realization caused a smile to slowly form on her face.

Arthur was calling out to them and she could hear him making his way towards them.

Her tongue was trying to form a word, a lush, intimate word that she'd never really uttered before, not out loud; it wasn't working.

Vision blurring, the floor started to tilt upward towards her, and she saw more than heard Dominic Cobb saying her name, before her eyes closed, cobalt blue eyes all she could see, wanted to see.

**

* * *

Playlist (with links if you're on Livejournal)**

**Waking up in the hotel:** Reindeer Section – If Everything Fell Quiet

**Dom and Ariadne** in her bedroom: Ryan Adams – Learn to Love

**Nancy and Ariadne fight: **Andrea Bocelli – Con Te Partiro

**Yusef shoots Nancy, Ariadne sits against the counter: **Bat for Lashes – Moon and Moon


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Inception is not mine, but I've been having a blast borrowing it (epilogue to follow!).**

* * *

_This is the place._

_And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair_

_streams black, the merman in his armored body_

_We circle silently_

_about the wreck_

_we dive into the hold._

_I am she: I am he_

_whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes_

_whose breasts still bear the stress_

_whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies_

_obscurely inside barrels_

_half-wedged and left to rot_

_we are the half-destroyed instruments_

_that once held to a course_

_the water-eaten log_

_the fouled compass_

_We are, I am, you are_

_by cowardice or courage_

_the one who find our way_

_back to this scene_

_carrying a knife, a camera_

_a book of myths_

_in which_

_our names do not appear._

-_Diving into the Wreck_, Adrienne Rich

* * *

**B**rown eyes opened; mouth gaped open, wide, taking in air dramatically, with purpose, independent, for the first time in a long time. The medical team rushed to assure the patient that all was well, he was safe. He was awake.

Dom sat up, instantly awake and alert, the other team members doing the same, unhooking themselves from the PASIV, going through the motions.

Saito, in a moment of rare openness, rushed past the team to his son's side, the little boy struggling against the medical crew, only comforted by the sight of his father, clad in blue scrubs like everyone else. For once, everyone was an equal in that regard.

The business man would thank them later, he knew that.

The small group of men was quiet as they got into the elevator, reserved. They didn't want to be there; their thoughts were all back in California, and they were tired.

Dom let his fingers graze over the plastic surface of the photograph on his key ring, and extracted it from his pocket to look at the three faces in the picture. He sighed, shifted a little, and looked out at the view that the elevator allowed them as it gracefully descended.

Ariadne would have wanted to see this, he had known she had wanted to see this; he missed her.

The flight from Japan to Nevada in the private jet was passed by sleeping, and despite this, when he landed, he ambled out to his car in such a bleary daze that Arthur and Eames offered to drive him to the house. He waved their concern off, but assured them he would call when he arrived safely.

The drive from the Reno-Tahoe Airport was much quicker than a drive from LAX to home; the roads were already salted, and the Jeep handled them well. Soon enough, he was pulling into his driveway. He walked along the side of the cedar shingled house and went in through the garage, hoping not to wake the girls, or the Miles in the guest room. The only lights on were on the Christmas tree, the presents all taken to their proper places in the two days since they had been opened. Sighing, he squatted and unplugged the tree.

The only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the refrigerator, and the low noise of the computer in the study was loud in the silence. Sock-footed, he climbed the stairs, and checked on the girls. They were sleeping peacefully, but he could already imagine the looks on their faces in the morning. Pancakes, he decided. He'd make them pancakes for breakfast.

Cobb didn't bother with a shower. He pulled his shirt over his head, slipped the slacks off, leaving them where they dropped. Socks followed suit, and then he was sliding under the sheets, disturbingly cold.

"Hmmm," hummed Ariadne as she rolled over and draped herself across his chest. "You're warm".

Sleep-slowed lips pressed against his, and he drew the covers over both of them, tucking them in. "Think you should ask Sonja if that's normal?"

"Did," she mumbled against his chest, and he was happy to note that at least her breath was warm against his bare skin. "Says chills are possible side effect of the painkillers, and that that's just how they effect me. The sooner I get cleared the better, because I'm not enjoying this and I hate being benched."

Ariadne sat up, and rolled over to turn on the bedside lamp. Dom winced, but after an instant his eyes adjusted and he could see Ariadne beside him. She was wearing one of his button downs, and he could see the edge of the bandage peeking out under the open, loose collar, but his eyes were caught by the small, happy smile on her lips, the sparkle in her eyes.

"I missed you," she said, out loud, and ran a hand through his hair before stroking his face. Involuntarily, his eyelids sagged, and he leaned into her touch, kissed the fingers as she started to pull them back.

"I missed you, too," he admitted, and between his hands at her hips – gentle for now, until she wasn't so fragile, until he knew she was truly doing better – and her legs straddling his lap, they ended up face to face, and he waited to wrap his arms around her waist until she had leaned in to kiss him.

The sex was slow, languid and sleepy, but the reassurance it provided each of them was what they needed, and when they settled back under the covers – Ariadne's skin now warm, he was happy to note – the quiet that surrounded them was easy, and allowed them to sleep.

He said the words into her shoulder, and allowed his arm to drape across the curve of her hip, a shape he could draw with his eyes closed, always would, and feeling safe, feeling that he'd finally gotten the words out, could say them again, he could sleep.

**

* * *

T**he visit to the cemetery happened at Ariadne's request; she had a grave blanket for Winston, and Cobb knew she saw him buy one, too. It was the reason she kept the girls with her as she started to trudge over to where the man was buried.

It was not his first trip to Mal's grave; it wouldn't be his last. The cold stone and the words on it were as much a part of him as his flesh and bone, and it was heavy, but it was permanent. He would always miss her, always love her; he had found a new person to love.

Comparing one relationship to the other was not fair, not possible; they were different instances at different times in his life, and he was a different person in each case. He had changed and found a love that reflected this.

With Mal, he had found someone clever, and light, someone who was a part of his world without the baggage or body count – Miles was an encouraging but protective father who would have never let his daughter participate in the things that Cobb had readily done before he met her. When he had married her, and he and Miles had started to develop the idea of the Institute, it was because of Mal's presence in his life. There was nothing hard about loving her, having those aspects of a life that many would consider perfect. They had been devoted to one another, utterly, hadn't they?

Ariadne...she was something else entirely. And he loved that, loved _her_. The reasons were there but not defined yet, a little vague and that in and of itself should have been frightening, not knowing the extent of his feelings for her, but it wasn't. They came from opposite paths – paths that were similar, paths they had forced themselves to walk in some instances, and maybe they had come out, in some ways, on opposite ends: one better for it, the other a little worse. But they were together, and that was _something_. Balancing forces.

The first time he had come, he had expected to see Mal step out from behind a tree. The stone was just a stone, now. Dom kneeled, placed the grave blanket down and when he stood, he felt lighter. His eyes watered and stung, but he ducked his head and tried to block them from view.

He walked back towards the three people at Winston's grave. The woman stood and started to lead the girls towards Dom, but then stopped. "We'll be right there," she called in such a particular tone that he knew, bless her, she understood.

Sitting in the Jeep, watching the interaction of the four most important women in his life, Dominic Cobb knew what they had to do, and what he had to do.

**

* * *

P**hillipa, beside Ariadne, chattered away to her mother. Caroline played with Ariadne's scarf, held in the woman's arms. This wasn't the first time they had come grave site, and it wouldn't be the last.

Because Ariadne felt she owed that much to the woman; it was the reason she had flat-out refused to sleep in Dom's room, remembering that when she had first moved into the house it had still _smelled like Mal's perfume_. When she had first met her, she had been an Agency operative with dirty, empty hands.

Now? Things were so very different: she had a life, a family, a _purpose_.

Ariadne hoisted the little girl against her hip, and took Phillipa's outstretched hand in her own, prepared to walk back to the car. "Thank you," she whispered, and meant it with all of her being.

**

* * *

I**smene stalked angrily down the hallway to her home office, her heels clicking on the marble floors and echoing off of the pristine white walls. Her cellphone was gripped tightly in her hand. The sound of the small cocktail party going on in the other room faded as she neared the room. Her security guard couldn't even keep up with her.

"Can you tell me why I am getting a break-in message?" she demanded.

"Terribly sorry, but I'm going to need your security clearance code, Miss Maurer," requested the man on the other line, his tone apologetic and accented. She could hear chirping on the other side of the line. Chirping from a computer that did not sound good. Figures. All the good techs come from that country.

She said the number and letter combination slowly and loudly for him as she sat down at her laptop, and the man confirmed it and said it back to her. Then he let out a shaky breath.

"It appears there is a break in, a hack...oh dear God," he uttered and Ismene waited. "They've...oh God, they got in. _In_ in."

"Explain this," she demanded.

"The information...I'm watching it...it's gone, oh no, no, stop!"

She could hear the clacking on the keyboard that he was clearly doing, and then another voice somewhere in the back, a scream, and a shot.

Ismene waited, but no one came on the line. She could hear footsteps, and then it was the phone was hung up.

Good thing she had the Ironkey; she leaned over and plugged it in, typed the password in without truly looking at it. Everything was safe; years of research and development saved in place. At the same time, she dialed the number for her friend with a freight shipping company. Perhaps it was time she left the country, at least until things died down. She still had a few members that she could trust, could use as her eyes.

The door to her office swung open, and a guard dragged a dark shape in, fighting against his grip. When it stopped moving and was forced to sit in a chair and handcuffed to it, Ismene sat back, couldn't help but smile a little.

She took in the sight of her daughter, in person, for the first time in twenty years.

She had her mouth that pursed when angry, the same sharp, watchful, calculating eyes. Somnacin use – or whatever the hell they used at the Institute – had left the tell-tale bags under her eyes, the slightest purple tinge to the skin. Physically, she was in peak condition, a small positive.

"Found her trying to break in, ma'am." The guard handed her a small black backpack.

Ariadne was dressed entirely in black, and she seemed to be content to quietly watch her mother across the desk.

"Leave," Ismene barked. The guard obeyed. The door shut. "Not the type of reunion I had in mind," she murmured.

"You didn't have one in mind," quipped the younger woman.

Ismene sighed and shook her head. She held up surveillance photographs that were sitting to the side of her desk; black-and-white glossies of Ariadne with that Cobb man, his children. Very domestic settings. "You've lost your edge. Perhaps if you had spent a little less time playing house..." she trailed off purposely, leaving it to her daughter's imagination to fill in the blanks.

Ariadne did not take the bait, merely sat and stared straight ahead.

"This isn't what I raised you for," Ismene criticized. "You could be – you had so much _potential_, Ariadne. And to see you waste-"

"-Raising those children, doing what I do, living the life I am trying to is not _wasting_ it at all," Ariadne said, and bent forward in her chair as much as possible, her eyes connecting with her mother's. "And really, what you had to say with concern to my life stopped mattering to me a very long time ago."

Ismene, a long sleek shape in arctic white, settled back into her chair, as if she was to enjoy what was about to take place. "So why break into my house? You've taken out my right hand man and one of my operatives in the last week alone – though I really ought to thank you for the former, as he turned out to be a traitor – and your little stunt with the accounts means that financially, I can't touch any of my emergency funds without catching attention. And you dissolved the the company that gave my my crown jewel. That was quite apt, to be honest."

She drew a breath to speak again, but was interrupted by the arrival of a man in a black suit, hair slicked back, smooth and shining like copper. He had a gun trained on Ismene as he made his way to Ariadne's side and suddenly, the handcuffs were broken and the young woman stands up.

"Mr. Charles, I'd like you to meet my mother," says Ariadne, conversationally. "Mother, meet my subconscious' projection."

The projection is impeccable; he looks exactly like Cobb, and the flat expression he regards the older woman with is dead-on, from what Ismene remembers.

"Clever, very clever," Ismene croons, and looks to the door. "But I am not without my own protection."

"Already taken care of, actually," says a man from behind her, shutting the patio door, demonstrating that the locking mechanism is silent. He's an older, more casually dressed copy of the man pointing a gun at Ismene. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but..." he shrugged, and let out a small chuckle as he revealed his own handgun, "it really isn't."

What was her daughter trying to accomplish? "I'm not quite sure what this stunt is supposed to achieve, but you must realize that I've got multiple layers of security out there, and in here? Well," she trails off and looks over at the older Cobb, "I may not have gone through Project Minotaur, but I have my own ways of protecting myself."

"All taken out by the other various members of our team."

The guard reenters the office, but this time, Ismene can make out all of the details of his face, suddenly aware she hadn't been able to before. Grifter. Forger. Avery, or something. Ariadne takes the backpack back and pulls a folder out.

"This? I got to it within the first few minutes down here before my friend escorted me to you; locations for other Cobol clusters, as well as how to tie your group to Cobol Engineering, to take you out of the shadows and make sure you're all linked to this appropriately. Cobb just got your password for the Ironkey through his surveillance, and you _gave_ our hacker your security clearance code. As we speak, he's up there, rolling out the welcome mat for any and all law enforcement groups that might want to take a look at your files."

Ismene cannot speak.

Behind Ariadne, the man dressed as a guard snorts. "Shit security down here, to be quite honest. You'd think it would be a little more prominent."

"That would mean going under, subjecting herself to the same things she orders others to do," says Mr. Charles, smoothly, words her daughter won't say.

The older woman is shaking with indignant rage, but before she can say anything, a man walks into the room with a bomb. Ismene tries to imagine more people to populate this dream, to come to her aid, but when she looks to the doors, she sees they are gone, as are the windows that Cobb watched from.

"Got everything?" asks the new man...Arthur. This is Arthur. Had Nancy followed him out to California, to investigate the John Doe. She had been right, so on the money with that choice.

Cobb seems to be thinking for a moment, searching, but then nods."We got it all."

Arthur places the device in the center of the room, almost cheerfully, and pulls the detonator out of his pocket. "See you up top," he says and hits the button.

**A**riadne felt the phantom ringing in her ears slowly dissipate as she sat up and removed the I.V. line. Cobb checked the vitals on her mother, who, with less experience, took more time to wake. For someone who researched dreams, she had always been afraid to go under.

Tracking her mother had been surprisingly easy; a week of surveillance and a few days to break into the real house to get the details down. Part of her felt like it was already too much time wasted on the woman – she just wanted to go home – but the other, more logical part realized this was the only way to assure she was apprehended properly.

Arthur was downright gleeful when he realized how easy it was to bribe members of Ismene's security staff – the cut in their pay recently made them very much open to the exchange of money for a blind eye. Cobb guessed they had been loyal to Malone, and saw this as just another way to accomplish the same. They'd nabbed her as she was picked up from a salon appointment.

The warehouse they were in was just outside of D.C., but it was waterfront, which would allow DoD access in multiple forms. The old, crumbling building housed a small sleep lab, and had some interesting rust stains on the drains from improper cleanup. Combined with the photos, files, and various other Arthur and Eames had compiled in the last few weeks, and what Cobb and Ariadne had been able to supply, they were leaving Ismene for them, all but gift wrapped.

Ariadne found herself looking at a surveillance photo that would_ not_ be staying with the rest. A shot of a little boy – her half brother – and a nanny. Her mother had moved from obscure artist to European politician for paternity to ensure her next child the European ties that her daughter hadn't had, political ties, since she'd allowed the man to have the child some of the time, that might help Ismene down the road.

"You can always get in contact with him, when this is over," said Cobb lowly, appearing at her side to ensure everything was in place. Maybe, when things were different.

Her mother was awake now, tied to the chair, but watching Ariadne.

"You took _everything_ from me," her mother whispered, voice harsh. "I've got nothing left and-"

Dom held up the surveillance photograph of the little boy. "Not everything. Not yet, at least. We've already contacted his nanny and told her to drive him to the airport; his father's flight should be landing shortly. Something tells me his father is going to be awarded full custody."

From the expression on her mother's face, this had little affect on her.

Arthur and Eames finished packing up any of the DreamShare tech they'd promised to remove, before the warehouse became an investigation site and people without clearance saw the PASIV. Cobol's actions, even without the mind crimes included, were enough for Ismene and anyone else they could scrounge up to be held on a variety of criminal charges.

It was already agreed; the team would spend the next few months trying to track down any other victims of Project Minotaur and Cobol, other men like Cobb. Miles was a little slow to allow it, but when they explained they would be surfacing the soldiers in exchange for their identities being protected in the investigation, he reluctantly agreed.

Yusef was already gone. The other four left Ismene behind, exiting out the side door. They walked a short distance before reaching the parking lot where the rentals were waiting. Arthur and Eames, both looking more than a little tired, left for the airport.

"We should stay," said Dom. "My contact knows to meet us here."

They shuffled in the cold for a moment, huddled together against the car. Cobb looked at her sideways.

"So Mr. Charles is your new projection," he prompted, slyly, and she nodded, eyes trained on the building.

"Mr. Charles is a good projection...well, he could be. A lot of what they taught us could be."

This seemed to strike Dom as being funny, because he smiled a little, and opened his arms. "No use freezing," he explained.

Ariadne wrapped her arms around Dom's waist, let her head rest against his chest, and her partner let his chin rest atop her head. Their breath came out in visible puffs, mingling in the winter air. They watched the flashing lights, and the officers milling about for some time, and then Ariadne murmured "Thank you" and knew he'd understand how she meant it.

"There's no need to thank me; we're a team, and this was necessary." He rubbed at her back, and Ariadne let herself relax into the embrace. There were still a novelty to them, these open displays of affection.

They were standing in that manner when they brought Ismene Maurer out of the warehouse, handcuffed and wearing a bulletproof vest and an extra helmet. They weren't taking any chances; they wanted her to be able to stand trial. The woman scanned the surroundings and let her cold, dark gaze settle on Ariadne, and she stared, even as they led her to the armored vehicle. Dominic allowed the arms around her shoulders to tighten, reassuringly, but Ariadne did not need it.

A car pulled into the lot, Cobb's former DoD supervisor strolled over, and the three followed the dirt cloud that signaled the armored vehicle's drive away. The portly man shook his head.

"She was a real piece of work, always was...excuse Cobb's horrific manners, we haven't been introduced. Richard Brigham."

They had not been, at her behest. Had the DoD known it was Maurer's daughter who was working to turn her in, Ariadne was concerned they would have not gone been so quick to accept Cobb's relayed plans.

She put her hand out to shake his. "Ariadne Maurer," she said, and the man covered his surprise with quick, admirable ease.

"You looked terribly familiar," he said, then announced "Well Christ, I feel old. Last time I saw you, you barely came up to my hip and I was carting you off to the car."

This was the face, beside Cobb's, in her memory. It was older, but it was the same.

"Brigham and I go back, _way_ back," explained Cobb, and then he shook his head with a lopsided smile. "I guess the same could be said for you, as well."

From their spot in the parking lot, they watched the proceedings for a while, silently. After a time, Brigham patted Cobb on the shoulder. "I think you two have done more than your share, thank you...and tell Arthur the same."

They left, and took a silent ride back to the hotel, where Ariadne was already stripping her clothes off and heading into the shower before Cobb had completely closed the door.

"Company?" he asked, unable to stop himself from watching her through the glass door. She opened the door and they both ignored the shower water that soaked the towel on the floor until he was naked and pressed against her in the shower.

It wasn't sexual, just reactionary comforting, not at first at least; Ariadne scrubbed at her skin, allowed Dom to help her and run his hands along her skin, through her hair. His touch made her feel real, feel solid. For the first time in her life she was able to stand still, to be an anchor, to have an anchor in the form of another person, in bones and flesh. There was an amazing sense of loss at that, but a positive one.

"Hey," her lover said, gently, while his hand cradled her face. "Are you with me?"

Ariadne looked up at him, at the man before her: the water was causing his hair to appear darker, and slicked it back; his eyes were open, protective, loving; his body was not perfect, but he was growing healthier everyday. She loved the body. She loved the mind. She loved him.

"Yes," she swore, and pressed into him, kissing him, a chaste kiss.. He drew back, concerned, when she sobbed, close-mouthed against his lips. "It's just - it's over," she explained before he could voice the question, "it's over and she's caught and for once, just this once, I _know_ it's going to be okay."

Ariadne lifted herself to her toes, slid her arms around his neck, flesh gliding easily from the water, and Dom curled around her, arms wrapping her, holding her. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth. "I love you," she gasped against the bathroom wall tiles. "I love you," she mouthed against his shoulder as he pressed her into the mattress, their skin and hair soaking the linens.

When they finally fell asleep, it was Ariadne's back against Dom's chest, their fingers entangled, their heads turned in the same direction.

* * *

"**P**lease tell me you're joking," she asked with a tone of sinking despair despite the fact the Dom was pressing a trail of kisses up the inside of her thigh. She had pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, and found, from the look on his face – bashful, but aroused – she was right.

"No," he sighed, and crawled up the length of her body, and she could not help but kiss him. "We're grounded. Again."

"Did you try Saito? Any of your other contacts?"

"No one is leaving the city, Ariadne. I want to be home just as much as you but let's just make the most of it, alright?" The sheet was being pried from her fingers, her hips pulled down the bed, her head now resting once more against the pillowcase. "I made us reservations in the dining room tonight, and I'm going to wear a tux, and you'll wear that dress," he paused, and kissed the skin between her breasts before continuing, "the one that took my breath away, and maybe we'll dance, but at least let's _try_ to celebrate."

Ariadne knew he was watching her for a reaction. "Well," she said, feigned reluctance as she started to imagine the night ahead of them, "if you went through all of that trouble..."

"...And you brought that dress 'just in case we steal a moment for ourselves'," he pointed out. "We're _thieves_, Ariadne. Stealing is second nature."

And that was how Ariadne found herself standing before the bathroom mirror, applying last minute lipstick and ensuring the straps of the dress were in place. Dom was leaning against the door frame, watching her, and she found that it wasn't unsettling. His gaze on her back was as warm and caring as the hand that he placed there when they walked into the dining room, and she had stopped dead in her tracks.

Phillipa and Caroline came running towards them, dressed in their holiday dresses once more. Miles and Florence were talking, easily, with Eames and Arthur at a large round table. Yusef looked up from a conversation with Sonja and they both waved; his leg was doing better, but he still needed the cane.

"What is all of this?" she whispered hurriedly, as she picked up Caroline. Dom squatted to grab up Phillipa, but when he stood, he beamed.

"Seeing as the last time we tried to have a holiday party, things went so badly, we decided we ought to try our luck again. Peanut and Care-bear demanded the Christmas Tree," he said and pointed at the holiday decoration in the corner, a tree wrapped in gold ribbon and ornaments. "Eames wanted the spirits, and me? I just wanted us to all have one decent, quiet, _happy_ holiday. And to see your face, when you saw everyone? Well..." his voice faltered, voice tight. "That's even better."

Ariadne hid her face in his shoulder for a moment, blocking the others' view of the tears forming in her eyes.

Caroline kicked her legs. "Are those happy tears, Ariadne?" asked the little girl before pressing a small little finger onto the young woman's cheek, and the moisture there.

"Yes, baby, they are," she assured the child, and pressed her close, and kissed her. She pecked Phillipa on the cheek as well.

**

* * *

T**he dinner was fantastic, and having everyone there and the tree, made it even better. They record player in the corner of the dining room was functional; Dom held Ariadne close as they and the other couples danced to Sinatra, the girls waltzing and twirling around them. Sonja helped Yusef up and he was able to hobble through a song or two – there was nothing romantic going on between them, but they were becoming friends, and it seemed in the spirit of the evening.

Staff started to filter in to clean, and they figured that it meant it was time for them to leave.

Stephen and Dom had been whispering earlier in the evening, sitting at a point when Ariadne had been sitting with the girls in a serious discussion of the chocolate pudding. As they walked to the elevator, Flor gave Ariadne a quick embrace, and kissed her.

"Don't worry about them, we will keep them for the night," she whispered into Ariadne's ear. "You two deserve this."

They all bid one another a good night, and went their separate ways in the hallway. Ariadne let them into their hotel room, and after a quick, precursory check of the room, Cobb wandered over to where she was leaning against the dresser, pulling off her shoes. He held out his hand.

"Come with me?" he asked.

Ariadne gave her his hand with a questioning look, and he led her out onto the small balcony. The view from their room was beautiful, and she had not noticed that before. The city, in all its hectic, imperfect glory, appeared below and around them. The sandy-haired man wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her close, starting to sway.

"Another dance, Mr. Cobb?" she asked, facetiously. He simply kissed her and hummed against her mouth, some tune she didn't recognize, and she didn't need to. Her bare feet were cold against the concrete, but the side of her face, against his chest, was warm. His heart was pounding.

"Honesty time."

Ariadne looked up at him, frowning. He licked his lips nervously.

"I was supposed to do something earlier, but I decided against it," he explained. "Tonight was about all of us as a family, but this is something between the two of us, and well, I know you, and I figured this would be better."

She watched him started to reach into his pocket, heart rate skyrocketing because she knew, instinctively, what he was about to do. "You're shaking," she observed with wonder, stepping closer, as if to protect the knowledge from some outsider.

The ring was weighty, and bright, but she looked up into Dominic's eyes, wide and blue and bare and _Jesus,_ she loved him, loved them, loved to see them when he opened them in the morning, still considered that concept to be precious.

"I know I'm not...I mean, we're already a family, and that could never possibly change, and if I spend the rest of my life waking up next to you, and there isn't a ring on your finger, then that's okay. And if you think this is too fast, alright, you're probably right, and I'll keep asking until you tell me to stop." He kissed her, shuddering, and pressed his forehead to hers, taking a steeling breath before asking her the question. "Will you marry me?"

Ariadne opened her mouth, knowing the answer to his question, having gone to bed knowing it, having known it, somehow, since they had woken up in that hospital room, equals, survivors, well on their way to lovers, to more, to everything. It had been hidden, had needed to work its way to the surface, unaided, had to appear like the sun on the horizon, had to catch Ariadne off guard and yet confirm her beliefs.

There was no hesitation when she answered.

_

* * *

_**Playlist (with links if you're on Livejournal)**

**Cobb returns home:** Dustin Kensrue - Pistol

**In the Cemetery:** Thea Gilmore – Listen Snow is Falling (Yoko Ono cover)

"**I love you":** The Swell Season – Falling Slowly

**The Christmas Party Redux:** Hawksley Workman – Merry Christmas (I Love You)

**Dom proposes:** Brooke Fraser - The Thief


	14. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own Inception.

**

* * *

T**he dark-haired woman leaned against the partially closed window and watched, through the small view that it allowed her, as the plane's wing dipped and the city below appeared. The flight was the second one she'd hopped in the last 24 hours, and the dazed sort of numb that came from traveling washed over her; she'd readily admit that the flight was her choice, the plane and leaving.

The stewardess came by to ask people to prepare for landing, and when she went to raise her tray, something seemed 'off' about her hand. A quick glance down revealed bare hands, nails bitten to the quick, and chipped paint. It would be strange, for a while, and then she'd just get used to it. Twenty one days to form a new habit.

Maybe in twenty one days she'd stop crying over him so much.

Because she had enough respect for herself and him to know she had to leave, before they ended up hating one another. His Somnacin use was out of hand, and she had to leave because they couldn't have a life together if he was too busy dreaming it away. She gave him information on the closest Institute Clinic and then forced herself to walk out of his life.

The airport was busy, the usual bustle, but she located them by the large, open arch in front of the parking lot. The sight of her entire family waiting for her, happy to se her, caused her to bolt into an all out sprint, careening into her father's open, waiting arms.

"Daddy, I missed you so much," sobbed Phillipa Cobb into her father's shoulder, who was rocking her in the embrace. It didn't matter that she was a twenty-year-old woman, she still needed him. Her father finally let her go, and Ariadne's small form was tugging her into a warm hug.

"You did the right thing," the older woman whispered into her ear, a soothing hand patting her back. "Your father and I are so proud of you, Peanut."

After a peck on the cheek, she stepped back, and Phillipa could see that the year since she had left to live with her boyfriend hadn't changed her stepmother; she still looked younger than her forty-something years and she was wearing a scarf, as always to cover the scar from 15 years ago.

Her siblings, Caroline and Stephen crashed into her and latched onto her, Stephen surprisingly strong for his ten years. She looked to the others and was so glad for their presence: her father, with his quiet love and growing wrinkles; Ariadne, with her quiet, efficient grace that seemed to balance her father perfectly; Uncle Arthur and his husband, forever squabbling but always loving; their son, Stephen's best friend; Ariadne's brother, Uncle Toby, who was her age and who, when they greeted one another, offered to beat the crap out of Phil's ex, mentioning something about 'diplomatic immunity' with a wink.

There was a moment, a quick pang of loss, when she missed her grandparents. She would have to visit them later, her grandparents and her mother, after things were settled.

Things, really would never be settled; that was the nature of life, she was learning. But she knew she'd be able to handle it. Her parents, Dominic and Ariadne Cobb, had raised her to, had shown her to.

Their honesty with her had been the reason she'd refused the job offer that had come while she was in school, some group that promised an exciting life and travel and a sense of serving her country, because she knew better, thanks to them. While they didn't share everything with their children, they had told them enough. She had called her parents immediately, and while she couldn't say it was the definite reason, she watched on TV as the man who tried to recruit her be escorted to his own trial by INTERPOL agents, a month later, while she sat at a bar with friends.

As they arrived back and shuffled into the cedar shingled house that she called her 'home', she watched as her parents milled about, perfect partners in dance they didn't know they share, and her siblings and cousins and uncles as they chattered, and realized, quite suddenly, why it didn't bother either of her parents that they couldn't dream anymore.

They were living one, in reality, one they had built for all of them.

* * *

**Playlist (with link if you're on Livejournal) **

Greg Laswell – What a Day

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**First of all, I want to thank all the people I've talked with and 'met' while writing this, particularly swampophelia, who is more amazing and clever than she could possibly know. There are so many of you, and you all helped me to write this, in your own way.**

**This story is over 65 thousand words; it's the longest thing I have ever written. It's the second longest fic on ffnet in the Inception section, and the longest Ariadne/Cobb fic here. From beginning to end, this was a novel-length fic, written in two months, and that's thanks to all of you, who kept me encouraged and enthused about this project. **

**In the next few days, I'm going to try to put together a sort of chapter-length author's note about this, and it will be over on livejournal, to help clear up some of the more confusing matters. In addition, I'm working on a very short prequel/companion piece, but that might not be posted until later this week or next week.**

**Again, thank you for taking the time to read this, and for sharing in something like this, with me.**


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